


Pride of A Graveyard Flower

by watchingvfall_n_drown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Artistic Liberties, Character Study, Dark Harry, Dimension Travel, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Necromancer Harry Potter, Necromancy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sassy Harry Potter, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tortoise slow, Worldbuilding, where Harry fanboys death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchingvfall_n_drown/pseuds/watchingvfall_n_drown
Summary: What do you do when you lose everything you have? The life you knew, the identity you have, the magic in your veins....Harry- "Are you underestimating me, author? Did you forget my necromancer identity?"Author- "Not any more, you aren't." ...Or The story of how Harry strangles his author without regret.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 92
Kudos: 116
Collections: The Harry Potters





	1. A strange bed- and place

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is something I had in my mind for a long time. The concept- that is.. It is not completed really, not even the concept. But I just couldn't wait! so yea..this is a bit of writing for fun. Please comment how you like it!  
> Oh yeah- here I am disclaiming once and for all- not the original story, not the characters belong to me. Except the original ones- they are all mine!

The sleep beguiled boy gladly sank into the delirious softness. The silk sheet felt heavenly, why would anyone ever want to leave this fluffy comfort? He would reign ‘pon this tiny slice of paradise, yes. Toes curling in obvious pleasure, the boy gave a satisfied hum as he breathed in deeply the fragrance of lavender and freesia. The feathery embrace was exquisitely soothing on his body, that which remembered the ache and trembled still from the past agony.

_Agony?_

Pale hands clenched and the young wizard sat up clammily on the bed, the haze of sleep vanishing in the wake of memories. Such pain, he remembered, his mind shying away from them. The soothing comfort was a distant thing now; his body protested the sudden movements but his mind hissed at the state of vulnerability.

He was naked. Mechanically, his eyes moved toward the side table and hands searched under the pillow only to come up empty.

The boy looked blankly at his empty hand; understanding the familiar gesture but not the result. Sleep still clung stubbornly to his lashes, but it wasn’t sleep that had him so dazed.

_What… is going on?_

It was not until bare feet touched spell-warmed stone floors that, there was the sound of 'pop'. The wizard was not given the time to properly be surprised before this tiny little thing nodded its head determinedly.

“Young Master Adrien be awake! Mippy be drawing a bath for the young master.”

Without waiting for a reply, the creature had vanished, leaving behind a swaying body.

Brows furrowed slightly before smoothening entirely and the lone occupant of the room murmured to himself,” N-not Adrien or…”

_No. He wasn’t…_

He didn’t protest when the elf guided him into a very ornate bathroom, big enough to comfortably suit a dozen people. Much to his consternation, however, while his mind was clearing somewhat his body seemingly remained rebellious and many a time he stumbled or fell to the floor only to be helped by a fussing house elf.

His determination was all that spurred him to hopefully relax his weary muscles in a hot bath after the countless times he mistook his coordination and collided with another pointy object that had been waiting just at the right position to welcome him.

He didn’t remember being so horrible uncoordinated and if he had had higher consciousness, it would have been acutely offending to his pride.

The bathroom was beautiful, if a bit ridiculous too. It was lavish, indulgent and not suited to be called a mere bathroom. He felt the trickle of memory of a bathroom as pleasant and generous with a _password_ and a _mermaid_ , but exhaustion shooed the thought away and blankly he let the creature guide him onto the bath.

Hot water, scalding at the first touch, coaxed his body to submission. Thoughts floated by in dissonance but they wouldn’t stay and he didn’t bother on insisting either. Despite the rest that he supposedly had had, he felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. In the end, he let his head fall back onto the soft pillow behind him and didn’t care enough to deny the elf as it scrubbed his body down so carefully.

He was a blank canvas when he was patted dry and only when he was led back to the bed, the exhale of relief marked his emotion.

He didn't stay awake to react to the elf's promise of hot soup.

\--

The second time the wizard woke, his eyes stayed focused. His body strained still, (perhaps it would take a long time to recover entirely), but ruthlessly did he discard the need to be soothed and cared for days long until he had a modicum of sanity restored.

He didn’t belong here. He would find out what happened and _who..._

The boy tumbled to the floor promptly. His legs had folded under him, with all the grace of a new-born colt.

“Master Adrien!”

The elf didn’t give much time to gather his collapsing thoughts before gently hurrying him to be dressed. And he complied with embarrassment coloring his face. It wouldn’t do to face his foes with no dignity whatsoever. His body was behaving independently to his mind, the least he could do was be dressed in something other than a bath robe.

He didn't belong here, in this strange house where a stranger elf looked after him. The floor was warm and the air still fresh, a sign of a well-inhabited place.

_He didn’t recognize it._

He gritted his teeth to seize the control of his thoughts before they threatened to careen into turmoil and absent-mindedly he watched as the elf clothed him in front of elaborate mirrors covering the dresser.

Absentmindedly he kept his eyes ahead. The polished glass showed a boy looking back at him with tired eyes, draped in a small bath robe that seemed to dwarf a smaller body. It blinked back at him, opened his mouth in clear curiosity, its realm confined within the four ornate strips.

Who was this person?

It took a couple of moments before the boy grasped at all and the other face borrowed all his confusion, all the bursts of questions ending only in panic, with the sincerity one’ reflection carried.

_He didn’t recognize it._

Because it was not _his_ , this face in the mirror.

The boy was younger than him, on the brink of pubescence; rather sickly looking with tinted pale skin. With blond hair leaning towards darker shade and fresh crystal blue eyes, the boy could not be any more different than him. Perhaps the only similarity would lie in how the boy’s skin was sticking to his bones, with shadows grazing his eyes.

No one would look at this face and exclaim _Harry Potter_!

And he was… wasn’t he?

“I.. I am not…”

The boy in front of him mouthed back his stuttering and promptly did he shoved back the mirror

It didn’t budge to his infantile strength. It was offended at his action though, “Mind your manners, boy!”

Harry felt the rage of a cornered animal.

Therefore with convincing perspicuity as well, he lunged at the creature tottering around his legs and clutched its bony wrists... It was a trifle of a gesture, his arms had the coherence of seaweeds; it was humiliating through the drowsy nods of terror.

So terrified but still _the emotions wouldn’t calibrate the right way._ He shook his head.

“What... who am I... _no_... where... No, that is not the either... _what have you done to me_?!”

The elf looked at him wide, anxious eyes but hardly frightened (It was insulting: this clear insinuation that he was hardly a threat to even this tiny being).

“Is Master Adrien not liking this dress?” It held up a swath of fabric in its other fist.

House-elves were powerful, as Harry Potter had once intimately known. Their magic was different than Wizarding magic. But then the power of every magical was singular on its right. Wizards often underestimated what they didn’t understand, what remained outside their realm of acceptance and even the powerful and great often remained blind to the truth.

However, he also knew that house-elves, however powerful, were limited in their mental aptitudes. (Reason house-elves can never lead a rebellion on their own, not like the goblins or the centaurs.) One of the many reasons why they were underestimated was because of their tunneled vision. Elves didn't see beyond, didn't understand beyond the orders of their masters. They were not capable of deception and perhaps all the more frightening because their treachery would be least expected.

Harry knew this, understood that perhaps this elf might be innocent in whatever devious scheme its masters had wrought.

Unfortunately, no one was here to hold back his wrath.

Fortunately for the elf, Harry Potter lacked the strength to carry his furious desire to task.

Shaking hands betrayed their strength and his hand fell to the floor. Wringing discoloured hands, it gazed up at the panting boy.

“Master Adrien being not well. Mippy be making soup for the young master.”

“ _Don’t call me that.”_

It looked at him blankly, “What be Mippy calling Young Master Adrien?”

He was... “Harry. Harry Potter.” If the kidnappers thought he would cower in his vulnerable state, meekly accept whatever identity that fancied them…

The elf agreed easily, “Mippy be getting soup for young Master Adrien Harry Potter.”

She popped away and the boy groaned in exasperation.

He wanted to leave already, walk beyond these mint-green walls and find the ones responsible.

He flopped down onto the bed instead, his breather short and uneven.

Harry had no pain lingering in his body. But he would have preferred the wretched thing than this Merlin-forsaken weakness that had taken over his body. Every thought must be pushed through a reluctant filter to be processed. Every step took careful consideration lest he collided with an unfortunately placed cabinet.

Didn’t polyjuice potion count for the coordination as well? Why was he so clumsy in this borrowed appearance? The mental lethargy he was suffering through did not appreciate new bruises to his ego as well.

Not that he would accept surrender even after brought to his knees.

_And, where on earth did they hide his wand?_

He could summon it? Harry looked down at his trembling fingers. Well then. Perhaps a bit later-

(There were faults in his logic, but his mind couldn’t even panic properly and Harry wanted _out_.)

This was not the first time the boy savior had been put in a ridiculous situation.

The elf popped back and placed a steaming soup in the dresser. It kept a wary eye on him and a careful distance to add to Harry’s guilt. Not that the emotion stayed.

He would have knelt down, but it felt more effortless to let himself slide down the bed and sit cross-legged. The floor was comfortably warm anyway.

"I am sorry for my behavior." Pale eyes went wider and he felt the remnant of guilt before it too faded away with the rest of the muddled emotions. “I am a little tired, but that was no excuse. Tell me, where am I?”

The tiny thing squeaked, not at all suspicious at the questioning, “The Silvan Manor, young master.”

 _Silvan Manor._ He mouthed the words, strange even in his knowledge, “Where is your master?”

Dutifully it said, “You being Mippy’s Master, Young Master.”

(There was something _really_ _wrong_ with that sentence.)

Elves were limited in their understanding and Harry had to be _precise_ if he wanted his answers in less annoying ways.

“Right. What about other masters or mistresses here?

Harry braced himself for a suspicious look or for the elf to call for someone, but it only wrung its hands indecisively.

“Master and Mistress Silvan be telling Mippy to take care of the Young master Adrien. They be telling Mippy to take young master to home.”

Did the taking care of meant that he was to be imprisoned in this room for however long?

“Are they _here_?”

“Master and Mistress be not coming back.”

He would be undisturbed for the moment. He wanted... would have demanded to be taken to the perpetrators... but his body was already nudging at its limit for the time being.

Determinedly avoiding any reflective surface Harry sank into a chair, his strength failing him entirely.

Mippy nudged the soup bowl closer.

\---

His exhaustion did not end. Much to his frustration, he was able to go couple of hours before he must rest like a babe, Mippy demanded. He was brought simple diet, each one of them carefully vetoed by Mippy, _not safe for Master_! The one time he had stomped his feet for a steak, afterwards Mippy had spent the time wailing and fretting and Harry had spent the time alternating between toilet and bedroom.

It had been a trying experience all around. Harry had surrendered to Mippy’s greater wisdom.

Their hosts never appeared.

Mippy absolutely refused to side-apparate him to them and much as Harry wanted to rage, he had learned his lesson.

The weakness was receding in a crawling rate; as in now he was able to be stay on his feet for an hour before collapsing. Days passed, with his determination to simply gain enough strength to walk properly.

And the polyjuice potion refused to end. His hands were still small, child-like. His voice remained high in pitch. (Harry had stalked a twitching Mippy through out the preparation of a two days’ meal to make sure there were no ‘additive’ in his meals.)

“That’s it. I can’t do this anymore.” Harry sat up on his bed. “Mippy!”

“Master Adr... Harry?”

“Pack some broth, and a blanket and uh... a pepper up potion.”

“Master?” The elf had learned to be cautious to be its strange master’s strange ideas.

“We are going to see your previous masters. I have had enough.”

She started twisting her ears, “Master is weak! You is not walking ...”

“Oh no.” Harry interrupted cheerfully, “you are going to have us apparate.”

She backed away from him with the same fearful expression when he had brought up this issue the last and only time, “Oh _NO_ , Master. Nonono. Too dangerous.”

“I know.” Harry was already taking off his comforter, “We will be having a small picnic and a nap at the place of landing.” He looked back at the uncomprehending elf eyes, and spoke a bit more seriously, “Should I- you know- if it becomes too much for me… Put me on the blanket and wait for me to wake up. But we are taking care of it _today_.”

He was. He couldn’t lie back like an invalid and accept his fate to come to him. This idea was perhaps foolhardy and absolutely idiotic and Merlin, Hermione would wring his neck at this reckless behavior…, but, this time he was all alone and he could no longer churn through the what-ifs and hows.

“Mippy be not going to the bad place.”

 **What now**? What fresh ridiculous thing was this now? He wanted to scream already, but-

He sat down gently beside Mippy, “What bad place, Mippy? What did they do?”

But she shook her head and wrung her hands. She flinched and the big eyes filled up in premonition to a wailing session.

He sighed, “Is it a dangerous place?”

She nodded emphatically.

Were they at a death eater’s base? He wanted to scoff already- the scrounge of the war had been scrapped away already. But he had been in isolation for so long before this thing, he couldn’t be sure no vermin had slipped away from the captures and that none were still lurking.

It didn’t deter his resolve anyway. “Well, how about you take me to the closest place that would make you feel safe and we will see from there?”

Mippy was young still (easily deceived by her master) and easily agreed.

And even though he had been left alone, had not been restricted from stepping out of the manor, he could not be settled. He needed to leave, needed to know.

It didn’t matter that the elf shook its big ears talking about how sick the young master was, that he needed to rest and the place was filled with _evil_.

He needed to see the place with coherent eyes, the place that his body still flinched away from pain, the place that spoke of a dark ritual.

It was entirely rash and foolish, this decision, considering the fact that Harry was still wandless and wanting to confront two adult wizards.

But a small silver of panic that was slowly corroding his sense couldn’t allow him even a bit of consideration.

Besides, it was not as if he was entirely defenseless. And they would know the consequences of inviting the fury of the boy Savior no matter that in recent years the public had known him to be utterly docile.

\----

Frozen, Harry looked out at the field: the place of his birth, in a manner.

His memories had started with the comfort of the Silvan Manor, but with every step he took into this place that pulsed with the residues of the Dark ritual, he remembered.

More precisely, His body remembered. It flinched away from the pain that had wrecked his body here, that had threatened to corral his mind to madness and only sheer stubbornness had him holding onto the identity of Harry Potter.

His mind was however was focused on something far more tangible than the phantom aches. The familiar feel of Magic soothed his over-wrought nerves and fractals of the truth he begun to understand before the wide, blue eyes lit upon the desecrated ground.

He understood why the elf absolutely refused stepping foot onto this place and why she had not left his presence even for a bit in favor of her other Masters.

The ritual ground was painstakingly drawn, runes swirling with life, but thankfully they were restrained within its rights. Merlin forbid if they were left to their chaotic mentions without having a containment glyph drawn first. The magic had burned into the ground and he wrinkled his nose at the burning smell that permeated through the air, unnaturally heavy and unaffected by the gentle breeze. Suspicious smelling candles were down to their wicks alone and at the midst where he had been laid all those night before, only the residues of smoldering metals lingered.

The ritual lines were precise in their shape and measurement, Harry hummed as he surveyed with a critical eye. The smell itself was more of an indicator of the success of the trial if nothing else. Skilled practitioners and bountiful magic. The ritual was deemed a success.

Debatable, though, the corpses on the ground would say.

They were the only disturbed pieces in an otherwise ideal ritual, sad specimen that only slightly reminded that once upon a time they had been human.

In death, the rich clothes were of no significance and from the long blonde hair and the shorter brunette with all the sparkling accessories, Harry could tentatively guess at their genders. Their corpses were entirely corroded; blood and life were sucked away cruelly, leaving behind two preserved memorials of perhaps once healthy examples of magical beings.

He bit back the thrill in his blood, not wanting the excitement to drain away his strength.

His clinical mind was whirring with all that he knew that could result from a single mistake while performing this ritual. Magic was hardly absolute after all and Ritual Magic was not a dedicated Art. No Classroom offered steadfast procedures for conducting rituals and rites.

The ways of conducting a single rite may be many, depending upon the wizard and what it must ask. Sometimes the ritual wouldn’t be contented with what was given, sometimes it must tempt with distractions and even greater favors waylaying the desired path.

There were so many factors to consider.

Here was an answer for the frustrated wizard, but woefully under-developed.

He did not even know if these were the people who had somehow captured him and for what? To hide away the boy-who-lived? He did not have the answers and now perhaps the ones who had them had passed away so conveniently, due to a stupid involvement in a ritual. _A ritual he had been involved in._

_How troublesome._

Harry frowned and looked over at the ground again, it was curious but he could not think of any ritual as vicious as to completely drain one of blood, magic, and life. The magic that the ground resonated with still reeked heavily, reminding him of something.

He should be more cognizant than this, but his mind still felt so lethargic. His body was not being cooperative either. Shaky legs could hold him no longer, never mind the corpses to the right of him, he gave into the temptation to sit. A small, absolutely foreign pale hand curled dubiously onto the soil fertile with the remains of a Dark Ritual.

And it came to him as suddenly.

 _Impossible_.

It was disquieting that he had not recognized it sooner, but he flicked away the lingering anxiety for later as he pursued this new-found knowledge.

 _Necromantic ritual_. The two people had been conducting a necromantic ritual. _He_ had been the unwilling participant of it. How...why... what was its _purpose_?

Almost absentmindedly, Harry went through the motion of a cleansing ritual, for such a dark taint could not be allowed to linger. After all, this was how the tale of cursed belladonna had begun, in the aftermath of a poorly conducted dark ritual; a seemingly innocuous flower in the middle of barren land, beautiful and deadly in the fact that it attracted lethifolds in droves. Of course, who would think of a pretty bloom in a farmland to be the cause that the some muggle villages would be swallowed down cruelly? The Wizarding world did not get involved until one of their own had fallen victim. And it had not been easy to cleanse the canton had lethifolds that had claimed that piece of Earth.

He went through the steps that were so familiar that his magic did not need his wand anymore for such a small thing. The magical memory overrode the alarms his body was giving out and Harry did not quite realize the blankness where he had been once completely aware of his magic.

His hand swirled with a wand gesture, pulling at his inner magic. His brows furrowed when his magic stayed silent. He pulled a bit more impatiently. He was still confused when his body started to seize and blue eyes dulled as he lost consciousness.

\----


	2. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry stomps his way through the day and doesn't get his way. And a bludger or two of surprises hit him- nothing important. (Note the sarcasm)

The assistant of the apothecary looked at the petite child with consternation. With golden hair tinted dark and wide, persuasive blue eyes the boy looked far too innocent and beguiling.

That was the reason that no matter how the small, unbroken voice pleaded, he did not change his mind.

Harry wanted to stomp his feet in frustration. Only the small voice hissing at him-that he might look twelve, but he was not twelve kept the tantrum to a minimum. Of course, he did not know that with his mouth jutting out as a pout, downturned brows, and pleadingly interlocked hands, he looked that part anyway.

"I know how to take care of my ingredients. I know far better than _he_ would." Harry pointed at an old man, who was apprehensively poking away at the jars.

Harry did not know _how_ to convince someone. He never had needed to! While his celebrity status had been stifling at times, he was now starting to realize that- in a way, he had been sheltered and spoiled.

Certainly, he had not cared for his fame so much. But now when he actually was in the need of something but was instead seen as unimportant and inconsequential in everyone's eyes, that he realized some things he had taken for granted.

His brows twitched when the shop assistant waved away his words, he was only slightly mollified that the man did not look too unaffected by that bumbling fool. And maybe gave him a more considerate gaze?

Was it too much hope distorting his vision?

"It does not matter. I am not going to trust a kid's word only to have Aurors brought to my shop."

Looking at the despondent crystal eyes, the abrasive man kneeled and locked eyes with him, "But, if you want it so much, you can just get your parents here. Potions are dangerous, you know."

Gritting his teeth, Harry looked away," I can't."

Because they were dead.

Grey eyes already had lost interest; there was no prospect of sell here, wealthy-looking brat or not. "Get going, then." With that, the man scurried off to snap at a girl who was delightedly picking up a gold cauldron.

He had to have them. The small boy remained stranded in the bustling Diagon Alley, hands tightly clenched in despair. He _needed_ them.

But no regular apothecary would let a boy without proper guardian enter their shop and risk potential damage, much less sell something that had been banned in several countries already and was in the list of restricted ingredients to own in Magical Britain. He turned longing eyes to the dark corner beyond which the turn to the Knockturn alley lay. The place teeming with Dark Magic shops was sure to have them, and not just the potions that were banned for the safety precaution of a brewer. After all, it was an illegal trading zone of materials that could hurt others and the minders of those kinds of selling places would care less for anything more than their profit.

But he _could not,_ could not take advantage of something so close to him! How stupidly unfair was that?!

It was not only that he was in this twelve-ish-year-old body, an easy victim of the deviants lurking in that alley. It would have been hardly worthy of a thought, if he were capable of defending himself.

As it was, he was wary of casting a simple Lumos.

He didn't know what had happened, but the comfortable familiarity that he had had with his magic was just not there anymore. He had once known the pain of a broken wand, and it had been a wailing pain his chest. But the ache in one's soul, when the magic doesn't feel to be their own anymore, was so agonizing that he wouldn't have wished it upon Voldemort even.

It felt like the betrayal of the worst kind, more than the loss of one's beloved.

After all, magic was hardly a decoration or even something close to a body part. One would mourn the loss of a hand or eye, but with a stubborn will, they can live. For a wizard or witch, however, magic was all that they were. It was in their blood, soul, mind, and life.

It was in their identity and their memories. Magic made them what they were and to lose it would be worse than a dementor's kiss.

Harry had not lost his magic, no; he could not recognize it anymore. In many ways, it could be called worse.

Ever since he had undergone the second magical maturity, his magic had more or less settled, and ever since he had acclimated completely into his inheritance, he had come to adore the feel of his magic so much more. It had been instinctual to call upon the comforting weight of it at the slightest concern, to have it saturate the air whenever he needed for it.

But now, his nerves trembled at the violent protest the magic had given when he had called upon it. In that clearing, just before he had lost consciousness-he had felt the barest taste of his new magic.

It had burned through him with the the gentle kiss of a blasting curse.

Somehow, somehow... he was not only twelve in the body but also in magic. The maturity had receded to that of an untrained wizard. Perhaps he could have handled even that, but this magic that coursed in his blood was not one that he knew, not one that had coursed through the twelve-year or thirteen years old Harry Potter. It did not have the same flavor.

No, it might carry some traits of him, and it might not. He didn't anymore. Almost as if his and the boy's magic had mixed.

He could not accept that, because what he had been would only want the pure lineage of a…

His thoughts scattered away when his face all of a sudden was smothered by something soft, and the boy clearly caught-off guard staggered away. A firm hand on his shoulders steadied him, but Harry was not in a very forgiving mood.

"Watch where you are going, would you?" He grumbled, trying to shake off the grip on him.

The person in front of him was not a giant that he could walk irrespective of anyone that might come his way. But he supposed the generous belly obstructed much of his vision, he thought snidely. In fact, the strangled waist-coat very much reminded him of...

"Professor Slughorn?!" He gasped.

It was indeed professor Slughorn.

The rotund belly of Horace Slughorn was unmistakable, as was the heavy moustache. Harry gaped unattractively at the wizard, at the man who had been his potions professor in his last year at Hogwarts, the man now with the posture which was not at all convenient for the poor waistcoat and it groaned at the seam as he bent down to peer at the boy a bit.

What on earth was this man doing here? Looking like he had eaten up a good portion of his weight and more in the last years?!

"Are you lost, child?"

It was odd, seeing the wizard from last.. oh.. perhaps, years. The man seemed to be more comfortable with life than he had been in his memories, if the sheen of his coat and the indulgent silvers were to be believed, not to mention the generous girth.

The man was as content as he had never seen him before.

Surprise had him tongue-tied, and Harry tried to get a word out as the professor started to look even more concerned.

"Where are your parents?"

Right. He was not Harry Potter. He was a brat he didn’t know- and would like to take his leave of this impromptu reunion as soon as possible- thank you very much.

"They are in the bank." Harry smiled nervously at him, the attempt to appear not lost or abandoned belied by the dazed expression."I was just on my way to meet them."

His win-some smile faded when the professor continued to hold his shoulders and he didn't know what he did to deserve this- because the concern faded away to suspicion, "You should be in Hogwarts though, aren't you?"

Harry tried to subtly shrug off the grip on him, "N-no?" Was he? Did the boy attend Hogwarts?

"Have you been skipping your classes, boy?"

_Probably?_

He hadn't meant to run into anyone familiar. He had not wanted to run into anyone familiar. Harry had been so singularly focused on his situation that everything else…everyone else had been shelved away for later. What was he supposed to do?

Was the missing Savior featured in the Daily Prophet yet? Was silvan expected in Hogwarts?

If the grip on his shoulders was any looser, he might have taken his luck to trying running imme-

_Never mind that._

"I..err.."

He was brought out of his panicked thoughts again by the jostling wizard, who had by now taken a firm grip on his arm and dragging him out of the Diagon Alley.

_Wait. This won't do._

"Wait, professor!"

Horace Slughorn scowled down at him, "You lot are getting even younger with your cheekiness. Who put you up to all this, huh? The Headmaster will put this to rights, you will see, boy!"

"No, wait.." Harry tried in futile to free himself, but the thin arm of this body was pathetically encircled by the professor's firm grip. He gave up. "I am.. I am here with my parents, professor!"

Slughorn didn't even slow his stride, "Well then, we will send them an owl. I am sure they wouldn't begrudge their child in a safe and secure place."

The strength on the stout hands was a little too heavy on the thin shoulders and it was obvious that the potions master was distinctly disgruntled with the apparent Hogwarts escapee.

The questions were mostly rhetorical as all of Harry's protests were ignored ( _you are making a mistake_ , _professor_!..) and before he knew it, amid grumbles ( _kids these days, just how they slip away to Diagon alley of all places. You can’t even apparate!_ ), they were already past the Hogwarts ground and he was standing in front of the headmaster's office.

The gargoyle shifted with a grumpy rumbling upon rough stones and the door parted for them.

The protests of the slight child had died down and his companion presented the errant student to the scrutiny of the headmaster. With dramatic flailing hands, the potions master intimated the situation to the other person, but the one who should be concerned with impending punishment was not attentive at all.

Harry was feeling all the nausea he should have felt in the side-apparation that Slughorn had forced him through, all the dizziness he should have felt from his long excursion in the Diagon Alley.

Mippy would not like this at all. Harry briefly thought before darkness took his senses.

\----

"Wasssa budger?"

His eyes focused slowly and… right it was not a bludger in a quidditch game that had hit his head, but the smiling face or Albus Dumbledore.

A **_living_** Albus Dumbledore.

His hand was too much like a soggy bread to try punching it.

Harry groaned and held his throbbing head, fingers shaking, and vision blurry. His body curled into the sofa he had found himself in somehow.

"Calm, dear boy. You blacked out for a second there."

 _Well.. that was slightly less humiliating_. He thought venomously of the weak body.

No, he digressed. Harry looked suspiciously up at the headmaster who had been dead for..close to a decade now. "Dumbledo'." He slurred. "aren’t you dead? ‘Ow in-"

He groaned again before he could complete that thought back into a sentence.

Both of the elder wizards looked at him with confusion, "I do not know who has played such prank on you, but I assure I am not dead."

"I will say." Slughorn spoke up boisterously, "If Grindelwald couldn't get the best of dear Albus here…"He chortled.

Albus didn't look back at his colleague who seemed proud on his behalf, the sharp blue eyes fixed on the slight young body in front of him.

"You are not old either." Harry wondered stupidly.

Indeed he was not. Well, then.

No, Harry was not _at all_ hysterical at this point.

"Mippy."

The elf popped into the room, making one of the wizards jump in surprise, and the other narrow his eyes.

"A glass of hot chocolate, please."

Stubbornly he refused to meet the others' eyes, till he had the warmth of the mug sipping back into his fingers. Mippy had insisted on him taking his potions and staying by his side. Harry didn't mind, he needed a thread of sanity in his hand.

Seeing how the young boy would remain stubbornly attached to his steaming mug, the headmaster tried prompting," I know I may not be the best of headmasters, but I am sure my students would have a better memory of me. They must at the very least remember my stories every morning!" The mirth sharpened, " Besides, I take pride in knowing Hogwarts. Somehow I don't ever recall you among them.

Whichever indecisions seemed to be warring within the child, he seemed to have gained a moderate control over them, "That is because I am not, one of your student that is."

Horace spluttered indignantly, "Why did you come with me then? And how did you recognize me if you were not a student?"

The child was equally indignant," You didn't give me a choice, but just dragged me off as you wish!" He didn't listen to the second question.

Horace snorted in disbelief, and the boy was looking at him with resentful annoyance.

Dumbledore interfered before the bruised pride of Horace would have the situation escalate even more.

"Horace does have a reason to believe you to be one of a student. After all, you are at Hogwarts age and few in isles have ever declined out the letter. What school do you attend?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed.

He couldn't very well say Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, Dumbledore was in familiar terms enough to enquiry his statement should he lie.

"I don't...I don't attend any school." He looked into the dredges left in his mug.

Slughorn interrupted," Are you homeschooled then?"

He nodded. He was very carefully not thinking about the strangeness of the situation…he wouldn't.. not until he had space to breathe.

"I suppose your parents worried for your health."

Harry nodded again. That deduction had been presented to them, seeing the potions he had downed. Now he just needed to make use of a window of opportunity and leave as soon as…

"Mippy, is it? Perhaps you should inform your masters, that their son is in the Hogwarts. They must be frantic."

Harry spoke up before Mippy would inadvertently blurt out something, "There is no need for that,"

Slughorn looked at him with shrewd eyes, as if expecting for the true mischief to unfold, "And why not?"

Dumbledore hummed, "Which family are you from? Perhaps, you already have your sibling attending here?"

Harry had hoped to remain as anonymous as possible, but he supposed some sacrifice was to fend off the predators scenting around him. "Silvan. Son of House Silvan. May I leave now, professors. I am…tired." Much as he loathed taking the excuse of his frail body, there were not many options left.

Dumbledore frowned as Slughorn mouthed the name with a thoughtful face, "I understand your parents' reticence, their worries. But perhaps we can talk to them about your possible schooling. I assure you, Professor Slughorn here is a master potioneer and your every need can be handled."

I know." He whispered absent-mindedly.

"Well then, "Slughorn regained his boisterous air, and Dumbledore smiled softly, "Perhaps we could meet them and speak to them about this."

One meeting, one meeting was all it had taken for Harry to be exposed in this manner, to have all his life bared completely, to have control lose the leash and frolic as it wished. Come, peck at the scrounges all ye scavengers, he thought bitterly.

"I am afraid…that they have passed away, headmaster."

Slughorn gasped quietly, and Dumbledore took a sharp breath, the twinkling blue eyes seemingly dulled.

"What about your present guardians, then?"

Harry sighed.

"My parents were my guardians until very recently. I don't know who will reclaim my guardianship. For the present, however, I am well provided."

"How terrible." Slughorn was looking a mixture of pity and horror, "I assume they have already been interred by family, then?"

Mouth pressed into a thin line, Harry gave a curt nod. It was none of the business for the outsiders to know the circumstances of death or burial by others, not the least in a pureblood family. The discretion initially had been because of the accidental or illegal or frankly suspicious deaths in the family and sometimes heads of the houses, and of course the pride of purebloods that they should investigate the cause of death. Until and unless it would be volunteered by a member of the family of course.

Thankfully, Slughorn did not press further. Harry did not look towards the headmaster, who was looking down at him silently.

Harry was very familiar with that inquisitive gleam- that also came with a slow stroke down a long beard.

This Dumbledore didn’t have a beard long enough for a single stroke- and hence, had to go for it twice.

Merlin's withering tea bag. Why!

\---

The two professors had stayed for quite some time after the boy had swiftly made his excuses and left. He had all the assistance, all the requests to escort him to his home.

Seeing the rapidly fading pallour on the young boy’s face and the elf’s mumbling that his young master was missing his nap-time, well, Horace had promptly folded.

Guiltily he had watched the flames of the floo that had long returned to normal.

"The boy had never really said that he didn't attend Hogwarts, Albus. Or I wouldn't have dragged him like that."

Albus Dumbledore had reassured his potions professor – "It was for the best, Horace. The boy might need our support now." -and sent him on his way.

The headmaster was not as much in the need to indulge as he might have been. But that was alright- the potions professor was mighty distracted as well.

Horace had left muttering the name- "silvan.. silvan.." -looking for the name in his roaster of students he had personally guided to blaze of glory.

Left behind with the soft sighs of the dozing portraits of headmaster and the soft tinkles of instruments, Albus Dumbledore lost the benign smile he had worn for so long. (they had promptly lost the interest in the frail looking but abrasive child.)

And looked at the instrument that had been spinning lazily spinning since the boy had come in and had yet to stop.

\---

Why!!!

Harry groaned his complaint to the soft pillow, let it suffocate him to its heart's content and maybe he could make sense of any of this ridiculous…whichever he had fallen into.

Harry had taken another three days to recover from his…long adventure. Mippy had been very disappointed with him and Harry didn't fault her at all. He was very disappointed with himself as well.

All his senses had seemed to desert him and Merlin forbids, should he actually have regressed to the intelligence of a pre-pubescent boy to fit into this body, he will resurrect the thrice-cursed Silvans and burn them!

Now, _that_ was an idea…

No no no, focus, Harry! The boy slapped his own cheeks much to the horror of the elf entering the room.

He despised this weakness that seemed to have seeped through to his thoughts, to the very core of his strength. The recent revelations had left him bewildered and apprehensive at the same time. By the end of his forced recuperation however, he was more or less fuming that he was unable to do anything else but think! (Thank you, Mippy! It looks delicious.)

He didn't want to think of what horrors his mind had imagined in that span. The simplest and most impossible explanation would be an elaborate illusion, one that had managed to flawlessly thwart a mind as stubborn as his.

Hadn’t that mind once forced past Imperius spell of even Dark Lords?

Harry glared down at the spoonful of soup in his hand.

Impossible and yet…. He couldn't think of any other possibility. He couldn't have gone to the Dead's land without being the tiniest bit aware, no.

Harry looked down at the pale hand, losing the earlier train of thoughts. More than his physical weakness and his slothful mind, there was something else he had found much more alarming.

Nuh. There was _nothing else_ wrong. Everything else only stemmed from _this_ particular situation- _that was all._

Harry firmly growled down at his suspicious thoughts. Mippy popped away with the finished bowl.

He was going to unravel at least mysteries surrounding him. Mippy had been very much reluctant to let him out so soon out and about. But Harry had been firm and what house-elf could directly disobey their master? Certainly not one as young as gullible as this one.

That was another of the tantalizing and much horrifying thread of thought that he refused to follow, for fear of his sanity.

To Diagon Alley then. _Again_.

Just the thought of it made him feel exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, people! Let's hope I keep up to your expectations!!  
> Be safe. Be cautious. It may get rotten sometimes- the way the world is going- but we shall fight on all my brethren! I love you all-  
> I will see you next chapter.


	3. Knockturn Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds out being a child is really inconvenient- every one and every thing can lord over him. Oh, and a new friend! (Sorta)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Back with a new chapter! the A/N will be at the end!

Mippy dressed him carefully.

Harry refused to look at the large closet at his disposal, the clothes that belonged to another and she had taken to caring about his appearance as well as she could- he didn’t mind the silk softness against his skin though.

“Thanks, Mippy.” Harry absent-mindedly dismissed the elf, already looking out eagerly into the dark alley, the place more familiar in his recent years.

Or, it should have been. The corner of his mouth tightened. There was the Borgin and Burkes, yes, but hmm...where was the inventory shop that had been just diagonal to it, a bit deeper into the street? He walked on slowly, feeling the awkwardness of wandering into unfamiliar- when he shouldn't have to. He distinctly remembered Burkes spitting mad about the curious times the proprietor sold. Even though it had been new- lacking space more than what could be squiggled between two already existing shops- and carrying blatantly muggle items sometimes, it had been instantly popular in the street.

Harry had been amused by the mulishness of the old Burkes if nothing else. Now though… _had there been a ministry raid sometime before? Or wa_ s it all a part of the illusion?

Maybe…”Are you sure we are in the Knockturn Alley, Mippy?”

Right, he had dismissed her, already. He didn’t bother calling her back, stubbornly walking on.

It was the Knockturn alley, just somehow shadier and emptier than he remembered. Did he come on some sort of holiday for this place? ( _Did Knockturn Alley have an off-day_?) But the shops were not warded shut, they were just not there.

Harry made a sound of annoyance when he found the Rosa’s- the shop that had a back trading of magical beings’ part was not there either.

They had been one of the preferable proprietors; the man caught a greedy amount, but the stuff he gave were golden genuine with nary a flinch- he remembered the time he had needed a vampire’s tooth with blood fresh on it, the man had not blinked.

"What is a wee lad like you doing here all by your lonesome?" One old hag sneered down at him, shrunken heads rattling in her bowl.

“Mighty brave kid this one, Griselda. How about spare a sickle or two for poor old me, eh?” Came the voice from left to him.

Of, course the scavengers would close in when they would sense a weak prey.

Harry looked at the wild-looking, frail sort of man (he kind of reminded him of Pettigrew, the traitorous rat, with all the hunched sniveling) and his lip curled, ready for lash out.

However… Harry looked around the alley that he was going to have to spend days wandering…should he care to find what he needed. _Again_. He had once spent weeks doing this exact thing.

There had been no sense of urgency then. He had stomped throughout the alley with curiosity and delight. Now though, only impatience urged at his impotent hands.

Which is why he was going to do something…which might be tad reckless.

"Mister.p "He started, trying for a stern tone, a stern as a child's unbroken voice could be, "I will give you two sickles if you can do one thing for me."

The filth-coated man definitely hadn’t expected any coherent response ( ‘ _What,_ he thought _I would run away screaming after seeing his crooked teeth_?’ Harry rolled his eyes) – and took a moment, “What that might be?”

“You will be my guide in the Knockturn alley.”

The hag who had been plainly eavesdropping on a private conversation snorted. Harry gave her a particularly venomous glare and she turned away, shoulders shaking. The guy looked at him condescendingly, “Oh, I will, will I?”

Harry bristled. It was humiliating enough, for the twenty-seven-year-old man to admit defeat and ask for help, without the mockery being thrust into his face.

Morgana- cursed this body of his. Condescension would be trailing him forever now.

No, not forever. He corrected himself. No matter how much handicapped he was-he would not accept his fate as it was. And they will all soon understand exactly what kind of nightmare they had invited in- he swore furiously.

Letting the disdain twist the young face, he bit out, “Even that hag is doing something to earn her living, not sitting around on their lazy bum like you. You would beg but bow out of actual work. How pathetic can you be?”

The hag let out a low whistle. Harry turned and walked deeper into the alley, without looking back. He wouldn’t beg for any favor, not from anyone.

But see, here was the thing. Harry Potter had faced down basilisks, dragons, and evil Dark Lords. He had stood proud and brave, where every other person would have blanched. All the courage that had carried him through the hard times- the tendency to disregard his own handicaps and carry on- sometimes _that_ toed the line of foolishness.

But the one of Gryffindor heart- home of reckless and brave tended to forget that. It lied in the practicality of his friends to drag him back from his willing march to own executions.

It had been a tiring time for them all.

Now though, there were none to hiss in his ears about the possibility of danger that the twelve-year-old sweet and petite looking boy courted- walking determinedly into the deeper shadows of Knockturn Alley.

He remained absorbed in his own gloom and doom, unaware of the greedy eyes that occasionally traced him.

“I think I will take that offer.”

Harry whirled back at the mocking tone behind him. “You changed your mind, then?” He crossed his arms, looking up at the figure that loomed over him.

The man tapped his bristly chin, "Don't see any reason to let free galleons pass me by."

“You mean sickles and they won’t be free. You will have to earn them.”

“Hm.. no.” The other grinned, happily showing his crooked teeth,” I meant galleons.”

“Really.”

The boy continued looking at him, utterly unimpressed and not at all intimidated by the man who was enough to block his exit. Idiot boy, he still didn’t realize the trouble he was in.

So the man spelled it out for the brat, very kindly if he might say for himself. “Well, if you want to ever leave this place.”

This was hardly the first time a pureblood brat had snuck into the Dark Alley, a generous pouch jingling at their waist and painfully naïve. They would stride down the stones, having escaped the clutches of their doting parents, and somehow assume that the rest of the world would lay down their coats for them lest they dirty their feet.

It never took them long before running back with snooty noses and wails for their fathers.

Well, they pinched pretty knuts from those idiots every now and then, and it made for a nice break. Soo.

This boy though, it seemed he needed a bit more of a rap on the head to catch up on the situation.

“Are you trying to rob me or something?” The boy asked incredulously.

Sweet Merlin, how sheltered was this boy?! And why did its parents let it go anywhere alone?

“I am earning my money fair and square.” He was entertained, he would admit. The boy was stuck in the place between disbelief and anger. Its nose was twitching, and the blue eyes were narrowed.

Did the boy think he was trying to scare away his house-elf?

"How dare you... I do not have time for this." The boy squeaked in a low tone. He would have had to grow a bit more in height and lose that cute voice of a baby if he wanted to sound even vaguely serious.

The man was _very_ entertained.

“You do not want to be here after the dark, boy. I promise you, you would have to protect much more than just your money.” He leered down at him.

The boy was trembling. Well, maybe he finally got to him.

 _Wait, was the boy trying to cast a spell_? Without a wand?! At least a wand might let out few sparks and scare off a rat or two.

The next few moments though,, they were a bit of blur. The smirk on his face was promptly wiped out and the man found himself looking down at the boy knocked out on the stone path.

-xoxo--

Harry woke to a gaggle of muttering. He woke to a body that felt as if it had been scorched by the fiendfyre. He woke to a confounded mind, slowly working its way up to panic.

“Get off of me.” Harry ground out through a tight jaw, less from true anger and more to keep it from trembling.

The intruding hand petting his shoulders awkwardly retreated. Harry ignored the curious blobs that had strolled closer and focused on the man who had tried threatening not a moment..or minute(?) before.

“What did you do to me?”

The man's brow lifted, but Harry wasn't watching him really. He scrutinized the wizard. There was no wand to be seen and surely he wouldn't have bothered putting it away so soon after?

He remembered…that he had tried to.. he had tried to curse the other...

No.

One incidence he might accept, however reluctantly. His magic couldn’t have.. couldn’t have abandoned him.

“What happened?” He whispered to himself.

The man though took it to be offended, "Don't ya looking down me like that. I shoulda robbed you when I had the chance." The man muttered lowly to himself.

Harry wasn’t listening though. He had thought he would handle this himself. Take care of the Silvans, find out whatever grand illusion he was caught in. Whatever it might be, no blindfold could be put on his soul.

He had had enough. He wanted to go home.

“Kreacher.” He whispered. “KREACHER!”

But the raspy voice didn't bring out the house-elf who had been his, had been loyal to Harry Potter. The Black House-elf didn't appear.

What was the name of that elf? The boy staggered to his feet through the fog cottoning in his mind.

Merlin, damn it!

“Elf?” There was a popping sound right next to him. “Take me home. Now.”

Harry lost his footing when they arrived back at the manor but didn't try very hard to get back up. He stayed there, legs folded in a W shape.

Everything- his sanity, his memories; they had all deserted him. And he had accepted. Because Harry Potter had the confidence to alight his world right- had the belief that he could with his own hand.

His hands that no longer could support his magic. His hands were no longer his own.

He was sure of that now.

It was not a single happenstance any more, a series of little incidences that could be explained away.

It was a flurry of shreds of evidence that beat his denial to extinction.

He could suspect his present body a consequence of potion he knew not about, he could explain the hallucination of Albus Dumbledore and Slughorn to ingestion of herbs (he didn't discard the theory of a very detailed illusion either).

Nothing, however, nothing could mimic the bond of a house-elf. (And no wizards would ever to fill that discrepancy in their designs.)

Nothing would have fooled the senses of a house-elf- those loyal creatures whose magic remained largely understated by the witches and wizards. One of the important facts to be noted- an elf would never mistake its bond with their bonded family for anyone else.

That was not to say confounding spells or potions wouldn't fool them. No matter their subservience- only their master's orders would bind them. That too can be manipulated should the willy creatures despised their masters- to an extent, so far as that leash would allow.

And that leash wouldn’t allow them to ignore their master’s direct call. An elf recognized blood of the family and family magic, it would never accept someone else for its master.

Kreacher hadn’t answered him. This tiny one had.

And that… implied.. no... meant undeniably, more than anything else, that he wasn't Harry Potter anymore.

He was truly Adrien Silvan. This was his body.

Everything that had belonged to Harry Potter was gone. The body, the magic, the sou...

**_No._ **

\---xoxo-

“What an ungrateful child that was.” Griselda, the hag muttered again, pushing something wiggling harder into her torn robe pocket.

“I should have robbed him when I had the chance.” The man with the crooked teeth and a coat that was hanged wretchedly off his frame whined again.

And yes, the scrounges of Knockturn Alley generally don't have much in terms of entertainment. Any incidence would fuel their excitement for days if not weeks. Every other kept themselves isolated from the rest, united only in instances of chatty gossips such as this.

“Oh shut up, Scabier. You have been whining since yesterday.” The hag snapped at the man who was sprawled on the mat opposite her.

The man turned on his back, keeping his distance carefully from the shop front. The cold from the night before hadn’t left the stones yet.

“I had a chance to order as many steaks as I wanted! I can’t believe I let the galleons pass me by just like that.” He moaned again.

An unimpressed voice cut through the alley, “I told you will be paid with sickles, not galleons. Please tell me I didn’t pick up a deaf and dumb man.”

The destitute raised his head from the ground, peering at the boy that was the cause of formerly said entertainment.

_Was this boy that much of an idiot?_

The hag leaned forward in interest, “What are doing out here, pretty boy? Didn’t you have enough of us?”

The boy dodged out of the way of the nails that came to caress the brown hair, keeping complete attention on the man. That dismissal and arrogance that he had seen the day before, hadn’t let up at all, “I didn’t finish yesterday. I need you again.”

“I tried to rob you yesterday!”

The boy didn't answer but waited for him with arms crossed. Scabier muttered curses to himself, before freeing himself from the tangle of blankets.

Harry turned and walked on, taking the path where he had seen an apothecary. He could hear the clicks of the man following him.

_He couldn’t tell the other that the man wouldn’t have gotten anything anyway. Because Harry hadn’t had any money with him then._

Used to as he had been as an adult, never to worry about reaching into his pocket and not find a pouch of galleons, he hadn't even thought about it. Money, finances, and careful budgeting hadn't been an issue to be dealt with.

Harry Potter was not one to indulge in luxuries. His needs were quite frugal and as such when he truly needed something, however expensive he needn’t have to think about his expenditure of the year.

But he wasn’t Harry Potter anymore. And the money that he would be allowed belonged to another. His hands felt soiled at the thought. 

And at the disastrous visit to the Gringotts. He would have been even more uncomfortable if it weren’t for the desperation that was driving him.

\--xoxo-

“Why do you need me?” The wizard asked him a bit perplexedly. The boy hummed distractedly as he counted the sickles out to hand over to the grinning seller.

Scabier hadn't needed to do anything but walk behind the boy as he ducked into one shop and another. He hadn't had to guide him through the alley, not as much as he had thought that would be needed. The boy seemed well familiar with the twists and malice of the alley, but Scabier was absolutely positive he hadn't seen the blue-eyed child in his two years of living in the alley.

“I am not really doing anything.” He voiced his thoughts. “How many times have you been here?” He muttered incredulously as the boy eerily kicked at a front that creaked open.

And the boy wasn’t here for a bit of tour either. He sought out the shops with the foulest of reputations, even the ones with innocuous dealing had seedy-looking dealers. Scabier snarled at one that was lingering a bit too close near the boy's elbow.

They left and the boy paused, “That is why I need you.” He pointed at the general direction at the previous creeper for emphasis. “It is really annoying to be this small.” The boy muttered in frustration.

“Right.” Scabier acknowledged in disbelief.

"Honestly. In Diagon alley, one needs an adult for guardian consent. I thought at least Knockturn alley would be better. But _no_ , they need one too... if I want to be listened to at all. And I don’t want to even be bothered about the other idiots.”

 _Were all kids this way_? Scabier could swear he had seen a bit more self-preservation in every witch and wizard venturing out into the alley, let alone kids. They would whimper at the first sign of dirty residents and malevolent faces- not demand right away as this boy had done.

Stupidly.. _stupidly_ naïve.

“You do remember though that I was going to rob you, don’t you?” Maybe he should anyway, just to teach this boy a lesson. The lesson that its parents should have paid more attention, rather than giving it unicorns and chocolate.

“But you didn’t.” The boy said decisively, already looking at the window display of another shop. Before he could take a step inside though, the man inside had already seen them. The shopkeep's face twisted in a grimace as their eyes locked.

Oh.

The boy jumped back when the door opened violently and the other man leaned out to spit out, “There will be no werewolves allowed in. you are with this mutt? Out!”

Harry looked back at the man he had picked to be his adult guide around the alley. He was unkempt, with a robe that had more tears in it than fabric. The man seemed absolutely unwashed for days.

Underneath all that, there was a broad face, hollowed cheeks, and brown,sunken eyes that were now looking at him.

He didn't _look_ like a werewolf... But then again... Harry thought of the man who had been his father’s best friend. Remus Lupin. The once professor had looked utterly mild unless it was a full moon and he had not taken the wolfsbane potion to suppress his animalistic instinct.

So how would this one know? “He doesn’t look like a werewolf. How can you be sure?”

The shopkeep sneered out, "Whether he looks like or not, He is one. I will not have one dirtying my premises."

“This is not a full moon night.” _Maybe_. “In any case, it is daytime anyway. So, why does it matter?” He tried to persuade the other.

It will be really, really inconvenient if the man refused to let them in. He had had to compromise on a lot of things. He was tired and frustrated with the progress already.

“You are not afraid, are you?” Harry asked a bit snottily truth be told.

That might have done… the opposite of what he wanted.

The shopkeep growled out, more of a wolf than his guide, Harry wanted to point out.

“Leave. If you know what is better for you.” The other took out his wand, grinning at them.

Merlin darn it. Harry couldn't protect them at all. He turned to the other but before he could say anything, the wizard had stepped right beside him.

“We will leave. But keep in mind, I won’t forget this, the next moon." The shopkeep opened his mouth, but the wizard hadn't finished, "Oh you want to silence us before, eh? Maybe I should try out this thing that has been in my mind. What happens if a werewolf bites even if it's not a full moon. Do you want to find out? I think I want to find out."

“I want to find out.” Harry chirped out.

Ten minutes later, Harry was much happier as he stuffed the jar with lethifolds breath in his bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tadaima!  
> I am having lots of fun writing this story! There are some concerns about how I am beating up poor Harry-heh- Yup! Harry won't be OP! here, at least not any time soon. I am focusing more on his character build up and the fun of letting him do more than blast his way through problems.  
> It is n't an angsty story- much- he won't hit rock bottom, but he will have to struggle a bit before rising. So no worries, darlings!  
> And ooh.. my characters won't be perfect. Sometimes you might wanna sock them in the face, that is perfectly alright.  
> I will see you next chapter! Kudos and comments if you like- ^.^


	4. Goat and Flowers- odd choice for a bribe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes back some of the control- and finds his hands are empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moshi moshi! Lovely readers, I hope every one are faring okay in this time. Here is a bit of distraction- hope you enjoy it!

It would have been amusing to see a tiny frame of twelve year old struggling with an old, billy goat- the contrast of corded muscle to the soft, panting flesh of the human, the perseverance of old to the tenacity of the young. It might have been domesticated, but this strapping animal was no more amused by the the audacity of a human taking privileges however he wished- particularly when the human was a tiny, superfluous thing, already red and breathing harshly while stomping for a declared supremacy of human over animals.

The goat snorted and gave another push-back with its horns.

With much trial and error, the boy succeeded in tying the bleating animal to a grounded root. (He pulled it twice to make sure)

Wiping sweat off of pale brows and pausing to take lungful of life, the boy looked around at his work. The ground had been properly cleansed: he had had to find a potion, of course, detestably _necessary_ because of his magic which had gone rogue..

Night air nipped at him childishly. He had already resigned himself to days of sniffling and bland soup after this thing was over.

And wasn’t that a sign of optimism already? After all he didn’t even _know_ if he would survive this particular ritual.

Going by precedence- the examples set by countless witches and wizards, driven by greed and a lust for the power, or even the conceit of those already powerful- all they had left was a legacy of what **_not to do._**

None were particularly sympathetic to those ends of ambitions, but gleefully took the lesson learned and applied- only to be the another dot mark of the ritual tales.

Such a frightening possibility and more, yet…

Harry Potter looked down at the thin, unblemished wrists of a stranger, this **_carcass_** he had been possessing for a month. It had taken him time to gather himself, stumbling through his days and only staying afloat by sheer annoyance at this idiotic body.

Why couldn’t it be like in the polyjuice potion- where movement came naturally?

He never thought coordination was so important in human body.

His whole body ached and whined- for all the times his mind would say thattaway and his body would flail in confusion.

It had taken him even more time to gather ingredients, ones that had caused him much grief. No matter how much he wanted, no one was so dastardly as to hand over harmful ingredients to a child’s hand.

That is so not even speaking of the fact that some of them were only accessible in forbidden places such as Knockturn Alley. He sighed at the disaster that _particular_ experience had been.

Thankfully, his guide had been more of help than he had expected. A flash of teeth and threat from the werewolf, and many shop keepers hastened their transactions.

Their partnership had been mutually beneficial. Of a sort.

So he had persevered. He had had to substitute for some of them, had had to suffer some irritants ( of the fat flea in a waist coat and a spider with kind eyes).

Tch. _. He was still not sure what had happened then_ , but in the end it was almost all completed.

He wouldn’t **_accept it any other way_**.

He had had everything taken away from him. His identity, his magic, his life.

The only thing not declaring him a patient of Janus Thickey Ward (meant for the mentally ill patients in the St. Mungo’s- the Wizarding hospital) was his mind stubbornly clinging to the identity of his self.

And yet whenever he saw the mirror involuntarily and the face that looked back at him was of an unknown child even that had been sometimes doubtful.

The bits and pieces of his parents was gone, eyes that were of Lily Potter and the face that called to mind James Potter. Even the iconic symbol that a Dark Lord had forced on his forehead was gone. Harry never cared for it much, at least until he suddenly found everything stripped away from him.

His physical characteristics, while unfamiliar, took the least of his grief though.

Avoiding any reflecting surface, not the mirrors, not the polished marbles, not the spoons that he would lick absentmindedly - took care of _that_ particular problem.

Besides, he was not so much addicted to the _greatness_ that was his face- nah, that was the Wizarding world in the whole. There lament would be far worse.

After all, those particular traits had been how the rest of the Wizarding World had identified him, it was not _he_ who had been so attached to those hints of memory. So however jarring it might be, Harry could swallow those particular differences.

His life- with his family, his friends, his sweet _Godson-_ was gone.

He didn’t think of their recent separation and split in beliefs. He didn’t think of it. Fractures could be healed- but right at this moment, in this lone adventure- he dearly missed them.

Words had been spoken, and unforgivable actions had been taken. He didn’t think how Andromeda had been horrified by his current activities, had been reminded too much of which the House Black had worshipped.

He didn’t think how his visits to Teddy had long absences in between, because the estranged daughter of Black couldn’t favor his influence. In the end however, no matter how he clung to the sweet memories the underlying bitterness made this sorrow somewhat bearable.

_What **he could not endure**_ was that his Magic, once so embroiled into his mind and soul – responding so beautifully to even passing thoughts, subtle in its power with all the flavor that his ill(?) inherited blood-line gift brought.. it was not there now.

He swallowed thickly at the feeling of this magic that felt like a betrayal still.

The only thing still leaving him coherent was the question of his inheritance.

He had already panicked sufficiently when his magic no more responded to him accordingly, the matured magic no more flowing in his veins. But he remained calm, calm until he would be prepared enough to taste if he was still capable of accessing his _blood-line gift._

He didn’t linger upon the fact that it had been _blood-line_.

Should Adrien Silvan not be descended from the same ancestors as his…

_Quite_ possibly _hadn’t_ the same ancestors. He didn’t care for the warning that the ritual would tear apart any foolish wizards that wandered into the forbidden territory. 

But two months before, that territory had been **_his_**.

So it didn’t matter because if he could not be who he _was_ , then he would gladly give his life trying anyway. There was no point, none at all in leading an incomplete life, if the inheritance of Harry Potter no longer lived in him.

Everything material had been discarded by him- as he had pursued that higher domain.

And if his Call no longer carried?

It had been what he had fought with his most loved ones in the end, no matter the pain the separation had brought him. It had been the truth which had led the Wizarding World into distancing the boy Savior so soon after the war.

He had left the world for this- and he had never resented the loss.

Not many knew his chosen path. But his _inheritance_ had been known.

At that time he had not even started to explore the gift, merely accepted what he had been blessed with. And Harry Potter, fearful but stubborn, had confided in his friends after he returned from the Gringotts. But even with that simple action, he had been exiled by them all.

Through he had been so tempted to just give in and give up, he had persisted. He had suffered, endured and doubted.

In the end he never regretted.

That blood-line gift had been rare in its blessing- generations skipped by without its touch. Even when it found a compatible descendant- more often than not had accepted it.

But it was not simply the inborn ability that Harry Potter was bestowed with.

Before his first majority he had been somehow blessed with additional **_favours_** and even in the history of his peers he had been be the most unique.

In other times he would have shied away from this attention, but only a fool would deny Death’s grace.

_What was he forgetting?_

Harry gave a exclamation of self-reproach and gathered the golden chrysanthemums in his arms and placed them upon the altar in the center of the ritual circle. Harry smiled a little at the Gryffindor color even if it had not been his original intention.

A displaced innocence in the middle. Only fitting it was, to have the flower of graveyards and mourning as an offering of this ritual.

He cleared his mind, and started the _song_.

The chanting was not important, but it helped him clear his mind and replace stray thoughts with a monotone, so that any threads might not be taken advantage by a malicious presence.

The words fell high and low in pitch, almost lulling one to security in the most deceptively pleasant in the child’s tone. Harry walked around the circle, lighting the candles with wicks a hair of banshee.

Grooves had been dug into the earth and Harry was careful not to step into them. Each filled with ashes of freshly deceased. A path should he wander away.

He resisted clearing his throat, and fell into the tranquility that he had never succeeded with occlumency. It was another reason why he adored conducting his duties, letting himself be immersed in such a manner that no other thoughts would flit by.

He closed his eyes at the unexpected hitch of sorrow, but soon returned to rhythm.

Once he was sure that everything was in place where he was supposed to be, he kneeled down in front of the stone table. Normally, there was a book to guide a wizard with proper intonation and instruction. But the chants were ingrained in his mind like no other and with absolute determination Harry started the first Call.

**He was Harry Potter, a natural Necromancer, the heir of Peverell, favored of Death.**

He would take back what _belonged_ to him. 

\--xoxoox-

The hallways of death were barren and noisy at the same time. Souls thronged the place. Souls complete and withered alike. Some were apathetic molasses floating around and then there were the ones prowling around, searching for a crevice on the floor, a facsimile of escape from this eternal place.

There were vacant eyes and jerking movements- sometimes the remnant of thoughts of their last moments caught them on a loop, re-enacting same acts again and again.

No soul had true awareness here, not unless the master of this place granted it. So even as some fluttered around curiously about this presence that strode purposely, this vibrant entity that was something they longed, clawed at in the empty nothing-ness.

Harry shrugged on the authority that had been his once ( **and still was!** ). Leaving behind the cold of those dearly departed- his own thoughts enough to keep him occupied.

It is simple in the language of death, very rarely do they resist the call of Death. For necromancers, still in the land of the living and constrained as such in the rules that don’t matter to the astral plane, the corridors are instead an invisible maze.

They would find twists on the hallways to confound and _keep_ them. After all souls who wander the plane, are meant to be there after all.

The logic of death doesn’t apply to the living nor can Life understand the way of the Dead.

The body of the necromancer was often left in the mortal plane unguarded hence, specially the efforts of a newly uninitiated who wouldn’t ward their precious vessel appropriately. The dead has no place among the living, yet some souls couldn’t ignore the temptation of such an empty vessel.

It was preferred among those, novices and cowards, instead to call the spirits into the plane of living, force them to their will. They would be strangled and dragged to the earth, torn from their rightful place. And they would be enraged, the remnants of human emotion exaggerated, their own will subverted. But the concerned necromancer would have a modicum of control.

Of course, you must carry sufficient power to subvert said will- direct the resentful beings to intended purposes. The foolish always leave behind amusing tales.

Harry had never had to experience all the trials that beginners had gone through.

He didn’t hesitate as he navigated among the fleeting whispers of souls traversing the hallway, some observant and some uncaring. Feeling rather exposed without _the_ _stone_ that should ward away the stalkers drifting about him in ill-born curiosity.

It had been more than a symbol to establish his identity. It had been his anchor.

The astral plane didn’t measure time, didn’t care for it. It is the curious mortals that do, necromancers who must- lest they risk their vassals withering away in the passage of time. Harry was hardly concerned about it, a body that was not his own left in a state of eternal sleep in a ritual ground,

Was it foolishness or true devotion, to gamble all and everything he had? The warnings that all the necromancers heeded, all that Harry was trampling through, was he to be another example?

He didn’t care.

The young soul walked deeper, climbed stairs up- manifestations of his mortal thoughts, how he perceived his traversal through the place.

Harry winced a little. **They** would take away those crutches **themselves** if Harry didn’t manage to learn to do better.

The feeling that he was doing something ill-advised only increased as he continued on his path.

The path stretched on as it had never before. The lurkers closed in as they had never before.

But Harry was not afraid of his failure.

Let it all be a price to be paid, if he could reach his..

His soul froze at **Their** presence that was wispy in its whisper and resonating with countless wails of torment. Still in disbelief that the creeping presence had somehow escaped his notice, Harry twirled to attend the being.

He still had ways to go.. But

“-My Lord!”

It was a cry of relief, of endless joy. He had not known how deeply that fear had rooted within him that the gates might have been forever closed to him, hadn’t know how despair had crept in with the advent of the loss of this feeling.

**‘Foolish little one.’**

This presence was incomparable to any magic he had ever known in the Wizarding world. 

**Their** presence enveloped him with a completeness- he was finally where he belonged.

The little soul smiled.

-xoxoxo--

“They attempted resurrecting their departed child. But to reanimate, whether their magic was compatible with death magic or not, wasn’t possible. The ritual instead searched for the one soul that it could take. Because they had wished upon their magic that their son would rise, no matter what. It was convenient that you yourself had been exploring the grounds at that moment and the ritual considered itself complete when it took you. They didn’t predict this.”

Harry was frowning throughout the musing of Death,” Nothing happens in the hall of death without your knowledge, your approval.”

Lazily, the primordial being turned to him,” That is true.”

Peace disappeared from Harry’s mind,” That means, they couldn’t have done this without your permission, implicit or otherwise.”

Harry wasn’t asking questions, but stating a fact.

“That is true.”

All the anxieties that he had suffered. The strange world that he had been thrust into, sans any warning. All alone.

“Do you understand.. **can** you understand what you have done? I am all alone there! I lost my entire life! Everything of the last three decades, my friends, my family.. my…” The soul couldn’t hyperventilate, couldn’t escape into oblivion.

“I lost everything! And for what? Now I can’t even access my magic because this stupid body isn’t mine. It will probably take up to my first majority for them all to settle in! Not to speak of my necromantic essence! The Silvan does not have a Peverell ancestry, that would be just my luck. You allowed me into a body that would be hostile to me! Why?!”

“. It might seem unfair to you.”Harry scoffed and Death paused for a moment before continuing,” You have yet to see however. There are some entities beyond mortal understanding. As I am absolute. As time is continuous. There are barriers I do respect no matter that I am not limited by time. However you are. There was a limitation to the knowledge you were allowed. Not anymore. You will know of this later.”

“You took my choice from me.”

“Perhaps. It was unavoidable.”

Harry fumed.

“Do you, per chance, resent this opportunity?”

“What opportunity? I am stuck in twelve year old pre-pubescent body. I lost everything. I am no less than a squib. What good am I now?”

Death remained silent a while as he vibrated with rage. Their attention was perhaps taken by somewhere else in the universe, and Harry was feeling incandescent with his impatient alighting the grumbles even more.

“Your arrival has been untimely. Your soul is still recovering from the journey. The vessel even now lingers in the doorway, protesting the upheaval that comes with departure of a soul it once had and forceful merging of necromancer essence.”

_How delightful_. He crossed his arms and kept glowering.

“You could have waited for my Call, had you had more faith.”

The words were not meant to be as hurtful as they were. Death was not capable of such emotional daggering, he knew.

But his guilt and rage flared anyway.

“I waited months! How was I supposed to..”

He shut up at the whisper of magic, not intimidate, but to bring him to attention.

“Now,” They said quietly, “You would be even more constrained in your rituals. Only on the samhains, when the magic upon earth would assist in the ritual and your magic wouldn’t have to bear the dominant stain. Only then you could Call on me.”

In an even quieter whisper they said, “I had deemed you prepared for this. Perhaps it was too early.”

And Harry could see, how the being was dissatisfied by that possibility, to have his gift rejected in such a manner by an insignificant thing.

It was not a matter of hubris, but an ingrained distaste in general. It galled him to lose control in any manner.

Harry swallowed his annoyance and spoke in an even tone,” No, it was not. But to lose control on myself in any manner is not something I can handle easily.” Harry didn’t apologize for almost yelling at Death. He had been uprooted from his whole life, granted it was not a whim and Death had done it keeping him in his mind. At the very least a minor tantrum was reasonable.

“It was not premeditated. It was an effective response to an opportunity presented. There could not have been any time to give you any warning. Besides, You do realize, if your mind wasn’t willing in the least, your soul would have been rendered apart trying to survive the journey.”

Harry clenched his fist (metaphorically, of course). Death didn’t have to provide an explanation, not obliged to cater to a mortal’s whims and whining. Didn’t have to follow the complexity of human emotions. Yet, it did and Harry felt all the more mortified.

And a little guilty.

Because the truth was- the truth that his Lord wouldn’t understand-

“No, no I did not. Thank you for telling me. And thank you, for this favor.”

Death did not respond for quite a while and Harry knew its attention was split elsewhere in the universe.

Harry waited. No matter his tension before, slowly the strain from his soul drained in the presence of the one he worshipped above all, the one he called as his Lord.

Never had he thought, that he would bow before one and call them his Lord.

But it was foolish indeed to attach a title of human notion to beings far above. But Harry hadn’t known how to address this being. Initially he had observed it as Death, but in the throes of absolute devotion he had recognized it as if nothing else, then as the Lord of his Soul. And from the epiphany forth, that was how he identified it with.

In the middle of his musing, he knew not when the attention of his Lord turned to him,” You are my apprentice, my treasured necromancer. Of course, I favor you.”

And Harry was filled with the affection that no necromancer cared to have, the cold touch of Death sheltered his soul with its gentle blessing.

Death Magic suffused his core, and he was reminded why he was so adamant to retain his inheritance when everything else would be lost. Here by the side of Death, he was forever content.

But his blissful state had to some to an end- the body was lying in the cold and dark all alone.

\--xoxoxxo-  
The reason why he could take the uncaring tone of his Lord, callousness of this action-

Or maybe, his Lord did know. For all his apprehension about human emotions, they understood the language of Souls perfectly.

Maybe because- he truly didn’t care for all the mortal bonds lost and abandoned. His soul had been easy to rip away after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am starting to learn japanese. For no other reason than to read mangas in their original. This and painting are two new things I took up during the months long shutdown. Dunno how it is with you lot, but our states are happily locking up people. And I am not undermining the virus- I am not- but the economic fall out just sucks.. I don't want to think about jobs and studies, but I have to. Can I fall back on being a writer if nothing else works out? no idea- but writing is saving me from spiraling down.  
> Depressing notes aside, I am going for dark notes mixed with humor here. And harry is not ooc exactly- but he took different choices after the war and all- hmm.. maybe I should tag ooc? If you have any suggestions with tagging or summary- shout out! I am not very good at them.  
> Uhmm.. Hope you enjoyed the story and please leave kudos and reviews if you did! Thanks to all my lovely faithful ones! :*:*


	5. Elfs and Goblins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being responsible is hard, hard work. Harry doesn't recommend being a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! I am back! Lovely to see you again! Sorry for the delay- this semester is going to be troublesome! Onwards with our journey-  
> Oooh, btw this is unbeta'ed.

The lone _human_ inhabitant of Silvan Manor, let his head rest warily upon the headrest of the chair. He was sickly pale, small in stature. With a healthy pallor, he might have been easily seen as a very enchanting child. With golden-brown hair curling past his nape and steadily swirling crystal blue eyes, he was arresting already. He never realized that, upon his many excursions to the dungeons of Wizarding shopping districts, the exquisite and aristocratic looks had more than often granted him some leeway.

Small feet swayed back and forth, toes barely skimming the floor as the boy made himself comfortable on the seat that had once belonged master of the house. For the moment, Harry… _Adrien_ silvan carried the right to command his elves. He had the right to the house and all that the Silvans had bequeathed him.

His face twisted in a grimace. Try as he might, he couldn't get used to this body and all its possessions. He felt like an intruder, an unwanted observer into another boy's life.

It had been a week since he had recklessly marched right into Death’ domain, fearful and impatient in equal measures.

He had his answers, but the existential crisis that he had been thrust into had not been resolved. He still avoided any reflective surfaces that might remind him of this stranger’s face. He avoided any other room in the manor save the one he was already occupying and the parlor where he was currently brooding.

Harry sighed and blinked up at the painted ceiling above.

His Lord had explicitly forbidden him from using any Necromantic ritual except the night of the Samhain. Harry had accepted the order petulantly.

He didn’t understand… what might have been the use in allowing his soul to be drifted _inter-dimensionally_ if he couldn’t even reap any benefit out of it?!

He had been mollified at that time; his anger had drained away at his soul-conditioned response to his Lord’s proximity.

However, soon as the soul had returned to its vessel and Harry Potter had wakened up in the snatched body back at the ritual ground, well… all the rage returned to him multifold.

He had thrown a short tantrum, short as in his body had promptly submitted its resignation to the exertion forced upon it.

Mippy had dared brave the evil that was in that place and dragged him away to the manor. Harry had opened his eyes to the mint green walls of Adrien’s room in two days.

He had been mulishly frothing over his circumstances since.

Harry didn't understand. His Lord had never been one to be whimsical, a human association they would despise. Harry didn't understand why Death had approved of the ritual, why he had been forced into a foreign body when he was basically invalid. Incapable of doing magic. Unable to visit his Lord.

Unable to do anything really...

_Wait. Did that mean he had had to retrain this body and his magic right from the beginning?!_

_Was he a complete novice now?! Surely the knowledge that he had, would let him float by the beginning hurdles, right?_

A twenty-odd-year-old Harry Potter had jumped headfirst into Necromancy, had not hesitated once from delving far and below. He would wait a perfunctory period before practicing the exotic knowledge swirling in his brain. Not a week would go by without his visit to the Dead. It had been a strange urgency that had driven him, for the knowledge accumulated had seemed that it would last more than his lifetime. The apprentice had found the urge to prove himself to his Lord and more.

_Now he was back to the beginning-to the trial_ s of the untrained _. Nuh-uh. Not happening. If he was…_

Mippy was pulling at his sleeve. Blue eyes blearily looked down at the elf.

“What is it?”

She was fidgeting. “Master, the pantry is empty.” She looked at him with the understanding that he was able to deduce the problem and solve it from those four words anyway.

‘ _Uh_ …’ He looked at her blankly.

“Mippy be leaving for market.”

"And you may," Harry spoke slowly, to hide his bewilderment.

‘ _Did she need permission for everything? Kreacher certainly hadn’t had to.’_

She was looking at him positively distressed. And now she was starting to pull at her ears.

Harry stopped her. “I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what you want.”

He did not want additional worries when he had had quite enough on his bowl.

“Mippy be..needing money, Master Harry.”

_Oh. Right._

But...He didn't have money left on him anymore.

The last time he had been at the Gringotts, he had taken all the money that had belonged to Adrien Silvan. The young Silvan’s vault hadn't held much, he was a mere twelve-ish(?)-year-old boy after all.

Through his desperation and guilt, he had mentally vowed to pay the boy back. _After_ he had ended whatever it was that had trapped him so.

But of course. There had been no trap- only a never-ending headache.

Well, now it seemed he had simply robbed his own fortune. The trust vault had been sufficient for a child, but not to indulge in exotic potions and ritual ingredients.

He didn't have money left anymore. But perhaps, he could access the elder Silvans'- _his parents’_ vault?

_He did not want to!_ (And that came out as a whine). Harry Potter felt foreign and displaced in the body that was not his own, in the home that was not his, the life that was not his.

But the discomfort he had to swallow anyway. He did have another life to responsible for this time.

Harry looked at his elf. She was still wringing her hands.

What was the boy’s- _his_ parents' name? Did he need an identifier of sorts that would let him access the money?

\---

“You cannot access the elder vault.” Barchoke, the goblin in front of him bluntly said.

Harry was sitting mite awkwardly on the high seat he had had to clamber on. It had been all very humiliating, but it would be worse if he had had to stand on his tiptoe and conduct his business with neck craned.

Around him, other goblins and their customers were occupied with their transactions. The round hall was abuzz with voices and the murmurs and Harry had had to lean forward to hear what the goblin in front of him said.

“Why? “ He frowned. “Don’t I have the claim for it?” Did they have another child, an older heir he didn’t know about?

Barchoke (the card in front of him said so), looked at him scrutinizing eyes.

Merlin, he should really simply make more of research on the family he was born in. It would be very much awkward otherwise.

Was it obvious that he was not really the silvan heir? Harry felt an odd mixture of fear and relief at that thought.

He fidgeted again, straightening on the ornate stool with no back. Goblins didn't much care for materialistic comfort considering the spend most of their days bent over their desks and they didn't believe that a comfortable workplace begets high productivity. Most goblins considered themselves content if they were to work in underground mines, cleaning stones, and forging enviable weapons. Interaction with other species was not desired in the least, especially wizards.

But it was unavoidable – their trading had been thrust on them since the goblin rebellion. Taking into account their general apathy towards comfort and loathing towards wizards, Harry was frankly surprised he was excused a seat. After all, without one, goblins would bear only a short stay thrust upon them and he couldn't think they would want his goodwill in any way.

Perhaps his height had been equally humiliating for both parties.

_And he was digressing._

Harry shrugged off the worry that came with that. _Not now._

The goblin had found whichever document he had set out to.

“Dorian and Mallory Silvan had no other heir except for Adrien Silvan.” ‘ _Ah, he knew their names now!’_ “The elder vault may be claimed when the heir comes of age.”

_Right!_ Harry slapped his forehead in self-accusation. He knew he was ehm.. _twelve_. But pardon him if he forgot that so often!

Wait, did that mean he was a noble destitute now?!

The goblin startled a bit when Harry leaned forward only to smash his nose against the counter edge.

It was painful. His life was painful.

“So, there is no money for me now?” He dreaded thinking of his future. And Mippy. Oh, the poor thing!

Barchoke tapped his nails on the counter, his bangle making impatient music.

‘ _Yes Master Barchoke, there was no gold to be found in this waif-like boy. How ever would you recover your wasted session?'_ Harry was bitter at the faint begging that had come out in his child’s voice.

“You may always borrow from the bank, of course.”

And the resentment that had been budding impotently in him, frustrating the boy because he couldn’t even do anything to relieve it ( maliciously or otherwise- he was not feeling particularly kind at that moment) dissipated at that unexpected offer.

_‘He_ _had not even known the bank lent money, greedy as the goblins were with the gold and the gems.’_ Why, there was to be fee to be paid for keeping the money in the vault, higher the security- more their gains. And if a vault were to lie for decades without any income, it would be drained half in the name of interest of the bank.

Ay.

Such ungrateful thoughts he had, when Barchoke had inadvertently offered a boy a relieving vine from his helplessness.

“Really?” In his shame, he let the gratefulness overflow.

The goblin merely looked blankly at the shimmering eyes of the young child. Barchoke took out a parchment and shoved a quill at him.

“The interest against an unsecured loan is ten galleons a month, irrespective of the loan amount.”

_Wait, what?_ “Wait, what?”

“However, should you choose to place any collateral the bank will waive any payment until the due date.”

Harry looked at the goblin blankly. Could he not use... terms meant to confuse everyone? _No one here was a financial wizard you know!_

The goblin sighed again and pushed another parchment at him. “Should you choose to, “he said slowly and Harry _appreciated_ that, “You can put up your assets- _for example_ , your parents' vault- as collateral. The bank will not need to collect any interest as it will be securely engaged in the future of the…” Barchoke stopped when he saw the child’s face losing comprehension quickly. “You need only take the loan and we will deduct the amount from your assets _after_ you have turned of age.”

“So.” He tried summing it in his mind. "If I don't give any guarantee, the bank will take an interest. But if I do, the interests can be…postponed for when I can actually pay?"

Harry ignored the stricken face of the goblin. ‘ _as_ _If he slaughtered any sacred spirit of their religion by using his own words… well, he was twelve!’_

But yes, that seemed the better solution of the two.

Besides, it was not as if he had any other option. How in Merlin's name he was going to pay ten galleons a month?!

Not for the first time, he cursed his age and his oblivious Master.

No one will want to use a child as an assistant- a child whose magic was untrained. They would sooner owl Dumbledore and inform them- and that would be the end of his prospective career.

Not to speak of a child with the darkest of interests. Morgana forbid should anyone catch him with anything forbidden in his hand. ( _And Harry had a habit of fiddling with the leftover ritual piece- rotten and dry- on him.)_

Perhaps his Lord had noble intentions in his mind, but the entity had absolutely no thought of the burdens a human must endure, to survive.

It was difficult for him to abandon the resentment towards that entity.

Harry released his fist consciously when he realized his nails were digging into his palm.

Well. He clasped his hands in his glee. His immediate problem was resolved more smoothly than he had expected.

But that was not the only reason he had come to Gringotts either.

“How does one go about claiming the inheritance of another House?”

The surly goblin, Barchoke, watched him above the rim of the glasses perched on long nose, with a touch of impatience, ”Which one?”

“The House of Peverell.”

There were no outward signs but the eyes of Barchoke widened minutely. Harry couldn’t blame him; it was a rather bold statement coming from a _boy_ barely starting his Hogwarts years. 

The goblin turned to his unflappable self after the short reaction though.

“The House of Peverell tests its own. Do you wish to lay your claim?”

“I do.”

Barchoke nodded, quills snapping away at a parchment in front of him, “An owl will be sent to you at the earliest convenience.”

Harry carefully climbed down from his high perch, his heart a bit more settled than earlier.

How absolutely nauseated he felt having to use the vault of another boy: a dead boy. Realistically he was aware of the fact the soul of the boy had nary a possibility of reclaiming this body and that without him, the House of Silvan had probably reached the end of its line. That didn’t change the fact that it belonged to a dead boy. He felt like such an imposter; entirely too uncomfortable and guilty at even staying at the Silvan house.

And that lack of identity had perhaps led him to be impulsive once more.

The house of Peverell had once been his ancestor. Their necromancy blood had once flowed in him.

And when he had presented for his first magical maturity, that had been one of the inheritance that had awaited him.

It had been a bit of a surprise.

The house of Peverell had not left any money for the descendants. Perhaps they had, but the fund had been depleted long before his birth and the vault had been closed; possibly passed to another noble.

What they _had_ bequeathed was knowledge; in terms of tomes and stone tablets. The knowledge that was meant for _only_ the ones gifted with the unique inheritance of the necromancy, _the ones who had not rejected that cursed claim._

Adrien Silvan was not of Peverell blood. This Harry could not know for sure, but it did not matter anyway.

Because the claim to that special vault would not ask for a blood claim; no, it would ask for the touch of magic beyond the veil.

If he could have those tomes, then he would be less burdened with having to look for his resources for his rituals and practices. Necromancers tended to be resentful having to share their labours. The Peverell brothers had been generous or perhaps arrogant enough to not keep their knowledge hidden,

Harry had practiced a few of the rituals before this incident and there was no certainty that some unfortunate souls had not fallen in their attempts.

In essence, he was… _ah_ …stealing perhaps.

But... Harry breathed, looking up to the laden sky, standing still near the entrance of the Gringotts bank and ignoring the suspicious looks the goblin guards were shooting him.

_It would be nice having a bit of his identity back._

\-----

Harry had decided upon a sum amount of 500 galleons a year. Too little, and he would be floundering at the end of the year. Too much and he just needed to curb any desire to spend them thoughtlessly.

He could put away the excess that might be helpful for a dreadful time or simply an amount he would not have to deduct from the Silvans’ family vault.

Fortunately, he wasn't an ordinary twelve-year-old boy with no financial sense. Unfortunately, he had already thought of plans that somewhat relied on monetary support now that he came to think about it.

Merlin, how he missed his previous life. If nothing but for the comforts and the insignificant things that he didn’t need to be worried about.

No matter. Harry thought, letting out a sharp exhale. The financial tidbit was done and over with. He had already allocated Mippy with a budget to help herself with (however efficiently she could.)

And speaking of his personal expenditure, of which there would be the least compromise, he would have to grow some of his potion ingredient on his own.

That would be best, he tapped his quill at the select numbers he had ticked on.

The seeds would be easier to come by than the plants and since he was not going to be the one taking care of them, they would have a better chance of surviving.

For the days after he had returned from Gringotts, Harry’s days were spent after being a bit more mindful of his situation. However he might scream and curse, there was no getting away from this.

And so, he had turned over the land that he had and the house.

The warding was abysmal. There was the bare minimum of one muggle repelling but _that was it._ He was thankful that the manor was in a much-isolated area, and he could only hope that there was not anyone looking for them actively.

_Because he had no way of protecting himself._

Actively, that was.

His magic was worth naught for the moment and his body was even less so.

However he adored his Art, it was not the best for offense or defense purposes. The result was boringly unvaried and singularly malicious. Death and amputation were not the answer to any that might vex him.

_They could be..._ Harry shook his head away from that particular temptation. **No**.

His Lord had cautioned him against actively pushing this body beyond what it could endure. And the current limit was minimum.

Everything that he was not restricted from begun and ended with rituals- for they would be the only ones where the runes, Words, and Magic itself do more of the work. He would not be the one having to bathe and immerse in it.

Harry could already feel how frustrating it would be to watch the magic unfurl and invite.

\---

Dorian Silvan had been disowned by the Silvan Family Patriarch when he had decided to bond with his love, Mallory. The patriarch of the family- Maximus Silvan was not a pureblood fanatic, not quite like the families Harry knew, but he was a proud wizard. He was proud of his heritage and his blood. Mallory would be an anomaly in the form of a British muggle-born that despite the relaxed status in France, Maximus couldn't accept readily. Perhaps it could have been debated to have an acceptable solution but Dorian was young and passionate.

He removed himself from the family tree and declared himself a citizen under British ruling.

Maximus decided that to be a bigger betrayal than marrying a muggle-born and burned his youngest son off the kinship.

So, his paternal grandparent had no idea of his recently orphaned status. His maternal grandparents…he had no idea about, considering Mallory didn't leave behind more information than a few letters and Gringotts keeps no record of muggles. Harry could only theorize that like many muggle-borns, Mallory had drifted away from her family.

Huh. So the Silvan Family had not died with him, it seemed. That took a fraction of guilt off his chest.

Harry sighed and blinked up at the painted ceiling above.

It was good that he had no complication that would come in shapes of malicious interest or even worse concerned relatives. It would have been even better if he had not had to deal with his recent handicaps. His Lord had explicitly forbidden him from using any Necromantic ritual except the night of the Samhain.

He sighed and fell back onto the chair, letting himself slouch in it.

_But_! The tasks he had assigned himself were almost done! He had directed Mippy about the land and the manor works. She did not have to take care of him that much anymore and Harry needed her elsewhere much more urgently.

He had not had gotten the seeds yet, had not been to the Knockturn alley again. His body had refused him outright.

But the small firm of poultry and random animals were going fine. They had gotten a dozen for mere knuts and he had been gleeful about it.

It would be better if he could get his hands on some magical creatures, but.. well he was not equipped for the maintenance and cost at all.

So mundane ones were all he had.

The bank had not yet sent him the date for the Peverell claim, so he could not get started on his self-appointed task to record necromancy and wiggle out which ones he could do without serious repercussions.

There were some, that were particularly vexing and he could not be certain unless he could try them out. Which again...

There was a tug on his helm.

Harry looked down and saw the elf with a hesitant face.

He felt the foreboding of a déjà vu all over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have lovely, lovely readers! Lovely, thoughtful, kind, wonderful, loyal and simply amazing! Your comments keep me buoyed. Your kudos give me encouragement. Do you know how lucky I am? I have these adorable readers who give pretty comments!! tch, you can never match with my luck! *dreamy sigh .*.*


	6. New friends and old dilemmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The irritants won't go away no matter how many times you bash your head. - Thinks Harry's new elf (words prettied up by the author)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Happy new chapter! Life is one strange line right now- I can't see edges or turns- time and place- everything is very, very odd. Keep your wits about and enjoy the chapter!

He supposed he shouldn't be so surprised really.

Mippy was a _very_ young elf and she had the task as the primary caretaker of a young, sick boy. 

Her master was supposed to be docile and pliant, he was supposed to be fragile of body- Mippy would be the one to guard over the frail wizard, feed him and call upon the elder masters when the young master needed them.

But the elder Silvans had fallen to their desperation- their hubris that they could claim their dead child from Death’s grip.

And a minor caretaker was shuffled into the role of primary caretaker.

It would not have been that much taxing either- if she had the ward she was promised.

No. she had a master who would circumvent their weak constitution and act in every way that was atypical of a child. She had a sly master who kept his health as the lowest priority and as such made her task more difficult than it needed to be.

If _that_ were not enough, he had tasked her as the keeper of the manor and land duties. Mippy had been torn between weeping at the trust her youngest master had shown her and horror at the vast expectation suddenly thrust upon her.

She tried- she tried so hard to bid all her master told her. She cleaned the manor regularly, kept the floor, and desks shiny. She looked mournfully at the ceiling that she could not reach.

She rubbed her cleaning cloth on the walls and the porcelain vases.

She cleaned off the broken glasses that could not take rough handling. she listened to her master when he told her what should be treated more delicately.

She cleaned her master’s desk of the parchments that littered them.

She dutifully twisted her ears when her young master would tell her the next day that _they were important!_

She tried so hard! And it danced chaos on her poor nerves.

She was supposed to feed her young master, whenever her elder masters were not present. Or when he woke up in the middle of the night.

But her master did not want her soup anymore. He asked for something else- anything else really.

Mippy could only burst into tears when her master had tried cooking himself in the kitchen.

And then, her master had brought in live-stock. There were roosters shuffling about and sometimes they would get into the house, felling their feathers everywhere.

The goats got into dominance scuffles and she could not get close to them without trembling. She was _not_ fond of those horns they showed with pride.

It did not take days after Harry had brought about the amendments to her life that she finally broke down.

Harry supposed it was a good thing she had become so comfortable with him that she contented herself with sobbing. There was no bashing of a head on the floor. There were no poker marks branded on her skin.

He was rather proud of her. ( Thank Merlin the idea of punishments was not as ingrained in their minds a Harry had feared. )

But _of course, now he had a problem that he didn’t know how to deal with._

He could be less ambitious, and drool in his comfortable seat, until his first majority when he would finally be able to do something. (that was a high expectation by itself.) And that would Mippy be free from all her duties except what she had been brought for in the first place.

_Heh_. **No**.

_Or, he could buy himself some more helper_ s?

Harry thought of the debt he was already in, the plant seeds that he had put money aside for. The skins of a lethifolds, right off its back… that had been a wish he had chosen to cuddle in his happy times.

He could not afford another way to let his money drain.

Suppose he didn’t have some who would work for him without any payment? Some noble, kind person…

Harry patted the little hairs on Mippy’s head (they lost them fairly young) and spoke with a cheerfulness that hid his internal frustration, “I will think of something, Mippy. Don’t worry. Just give me a couple of days' time. Meanwhile, just… do what you can.”

He could help?

That would send Mippy into a deeper hysteria, to have the young master exerting himself so. She already fluttered about in the kitchen after him.

Harry looked absentmindedly out of the window- fingers tapping to the branches of the thoughts.

-r-y-t-m

When Harry had thought to relieve Mippy of some of her duties, she had expected to be rid of the goats once and for all.

Now she stood despairingly in front of him.

“Master doesn’t need me anymore?!” she wailed.

Yea. She was not happy when Harry told her to leave her care-taking duties- except for when he called her. There would be no need to be by him at all times.

“Oh no, I do!” Harry said earnestly. “That is why, I need you for this, Mippy. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this, Mippy! This is important to me... _so_ important! I know you won’t disappoint me!”

Maybe he overdid it a bit? Harry patted the elf that was clutching his waist and sobbing her heart out.

Truthfully speaking though, there was no one else that he could trust with this- no one _living_ that is.

And that brought him to his other task. After sending Mippy on her way, he looked over his parchment one more time.

It _should_ work. **_Theoretically_**.

There had been no precedence to this, not even a measly hypothesis. ( Harry had been through all the necromancers’ boasts he had found).

There was nothing to tell him if a mistake on the rune would take his flesh in pounds or limbs.

No necromancer had thought of this earlier and thus no idiot had tried it out.

_Idiots were very important to the Art of Necromancy. They left behind the lesson on what not to do- not even for the pleasure of a dare._

He was perhaps, the first one to try necromancy in this way. He was simultaneously a bit proud of himself and startled at his predecessor in the Art.

But then, no one ever cared that much for house-elves.

They were hard-working and sincerely loyal to their masters like nothing else. Even Voldemort couldn’t boast that kind of faithfulness from his death- eaters.

In their hubris, the necromancers had overlooked this mine of potential. Because _if_ he was correct in assumptions… should the loyalty be bound through death, then he would have couple more helpers- Helpers that he would not have to worry about potential bond-breaking- repeated commands to obedience.

Harry was ecstatic. Now, he only needed to verify what had proven successful in _theory_.

He looked over his chart. The timing was as _rotten_ as it could be for necromantic rituals. Beltane was close and the magic in the air was pregnant with the bounties and happiness.

He needed a sacrifice if he wanted his Call as potent as he wanted to be.

Maybe more than one?

-t-m-y-r

**_It was a conspiracy_** , he could make an oath in front of his Lord- it had to be.

There was no way he would get this many unwanted interruptions in his life, he thought- staring at the parchment that the tawny owl was holding out with a bit of impatience.

He could see the pretentious handwriting on the envelope.

The owl hooted impatiently, tiring of her raised leg.

“Right.”

She did not leave after he had untied the letter.

“You would be waiting for a reply?” He asked with horror.

She looked back at the child, absolutely unimpressed.

He was tempted to feed it to the grate. What could the owl or _Dumbledore_ do about it?

“Master?”

Harry gestured at her, limbs fluttering as uncertainly as he felt right then.

“I will be going back to my room. Give her water or something.”

Neither the owl nor the letter had gone away when he woke up a couple of hours later.

**_Mr. Silvan_ **

**_I hope you will forgive this unexpected greeting. Professor Slughorn has been very worried about you, considering he had been the one to find you wandering and lost. He has not let go of his first impression of a child in need, I am afraid._ **

**_I admit I share his concern as well. I pray you are doing well in your unfortunate circumstances._ **

**_Despite the reticence that you showed last time, my inquiries have prompted me to ask you nonetheless._ **

**_We would be failing in our duties as the guardians and teachers in spirit if not in truth, if we let a young child such as you wither in your solitude._ **

**_Hogwarts would be good for you. You need not worry about your needs, the school is well-equipped to care for each and every one of her children._ **

**_We will be waiting for your reply._ **

**_Yours_ **

**_Albus Dumbledore._ **

He did throw the parchment right into the fire.

The owl squawked in irritation when the flame flared. Mippy took it as a reason to insist on a soft blanket around his thin shoulder.

Poctii socks!

He had forgotten about his encounter with Horace Slughorn and Dumbledore.

Now, the letter helpfully let him revisit the vexing encounter. He had not handled it well, but then Harry had been in the middle of a ritual-enforced trauma.

He had spent the entire time building defenses- from the man who had sat in front of him and from the man in his memories.

What he had thought he knew of the man had been an illusion from the beginning to the end- from the man's life it had started and his death had not brought about new and difficult facets of Albus Dumbledore's life.

The illusion had not ended with Harry Potter’s chosen death at the hand of Voldemort either, but they did give him a few crystal clarity.

The man was an absolute manipulator. The end result might be world peace or more lemon drops sold to him. It might be roused from curiosity or kindness for another.

It might be for the greater good or for the personal devil.

Whatever it might be anyway- the man would trust no one with the truth but himself.

Harry thought of the heartbreaks his mentor had brought about to him- even after all those years the curious mix of love and resentment he felt towards the headmaster…

He snorted a little as he remembered the letter’s tone. Dumbledore had made it sound as if Slughorn had needled him into contacting him- keeping himself a passive bystander in this selfless affection of a professor towards an unfortunate child.

Harry thought of the rotund man who saw the world invisible but for the ones who could get him better fame and name- the one who would dismiss students until they are talented enough to tie with. (It all was a matter of mutual cooperation really. )

And he snorted again.

Meddlesome old man.

What else did the letter say-

-He should not have thrown the parchment so hastily into the fire. Harry peered into the merrily burning grate.

Wait. Did it say something about inquiries?

-y-t-r

  
Harry had never been so handicapped in conducting a ritual before. Was this how muggles tried doing it? No magic. No association with the other realm and relying on measly glyphs to carry out his wish.

He could not be the one chanting, could not be the one standing in the center watching with pride as the magic would tremble.

No. he had left it to the Aztec runes drawn in his sacrifices’ ash, the buds that -the dealer had sworn in the name of Morgana- were freshly sprouted.

At his hands was the obsidian dagger dipped in his life-force (Harry was going to have to hide that injury from Mippy) and in his feet were the skins of his sacrifices to hide his presence from the dead.

There was no need to spook the newly arisen- little inferius experiments..er.. bewildered _dolls_ of his with a sudden intrusion- a living intrusion, not until they were truly bonded with the runes carved on their hearts and their mouths.

Harry watched as the runes activated slowly, straining with the need to establish dominance over the earth magic. The sweetness of spring magic faltered and decayed- slowly did the heavy dark magic from his sacrifices take over.

Throughout it all, he could almost taste the rot in the air.

It was well he had lavender to maintain a bit of dignity or it would have been even more troublesome.

He did not want to return smelling of.. well corpses and rotten things. He did not want to spend the entire hour keeping his nose pinched either.

_The ritual went off without a hitch_.

But then Harry had never been really worried about the act itself- raising inferi. It was one of the easiest use of the death magic and since he was not stepping soul first, sense last into the death’s domain, he was not at risk.

He had not been an idiot; no matter his grumblings he had heeded the word of his Master. He had not let any of his magic be the conduit for the ritual. He had been merely the facilitator.

It had been vexing having to rely on runes to bind the bones with his will -the manual carving he had not been fond of. For the person who had favored the brutal force of his magic- the act of drawing a rune with a knife… it had been messy. Nonetheless, he had complete faith in his skill.

And now to see, if he succeeded-

They had been the bodies that Harry had unearthed from the Silvan property. Mippy had said that it was age that had made them incapable of carrying any task and they had soon bade for retirement after Mippy’s arrival.

The Silvans had not taken any other elves to fill the duties that their elderly elves had. Mippy had been tasked with Adrien’s care, and nothing more.

But old age, infirmity had no meaning in **Death**.

His dolls stood now, parts of their bodies rotten and exposed to the bone ( _the decomposition rate of house-elves were apparently very slow- Harry was going to note that down_.)

They stood with milky, unseeing eyes before looking unerringly at him. ( _So the senses were working fine then.)_

Harry remained seated without a word, without any worries. His hands were on the dagger, waiting to see- _If_ the experiment failed; _if_ he would have to touch the dagger to the flame that was spluttering away in a bowl and…

The elves fell to the ground, knees, and forehead prostrate. “Master.”

Well.

_Tch_ … he was a tad disappointed he wouldn't get to tinker a bit more.

_But this was fantastic!_

His first ritual in his body and he had **succeeded**. He was not as impotent as he had feared.

Besides that, he had proven another hypothesis of his! It was a shame that there was no legal way to publish this in the community.

Not that he would have, Necromancers as a rule were very thrifty about their knowledge and Harry was no exception. He just wanted a bit of bragging time- he was not going to dance like a monkey in front of his Lord for doing silly experiments.

It was to be his own hand to pat his back. Harry sighed.

Anyway-

Harry smiled at his two new slaves. “Welcome to your new life. Mippy would be ecstatic with her new friends.”

-t-m-r-y

\----

The white wailing kaholic- a plant that worked **fantastic** in his youthful potion- needed unicorn blood every once two months- which… no, too much maintenance for the twelve-year-old boy.

The red kaholic though… Harry looked at the three seeds that were presented to him on the tray.

This he could work with. As Harry carefully checked if the sprouts were curled the _right way_ , he could feel the eyes of both the shop-keeper and the guide on him.

Last time he had come to the Knockturn Alley, he had been blinded to all save he wanted and that tunneled vision had led to him ignoring everything not strictly relevant.

He had not cared if people were looking at him or if the overcast sky had suddenly turned red and started raining dementors.

This time though… his attention was a lot relaxed and as such, he was relatively more aware enough to notice his surroundings.

It did nothing to stop him; he did have to fight his cheeks from lighting up in embarrassment though- especially when his voice sometimes squeaked in the middle of a sentence.

Or when he was stared at shamelessly- like _right now._

The shop-keeper, he could understand ( he was holding their precious merchandise in his hand.) His guide though- could he not go browse something and leave him to his work?

He waited till the seeds had been exchanged for galleons (his heart had been confused between ecstasy and sadness) and turned to his guide.

Perhaps, it was time he should enquire about the other’s name... But first...

“You do not have to keep an eye on me all the time, you know. I am not going to run off without paying you.”

The man’s mouth twisted. “Like you can.” He spat out on the floor.

Harry took a prompt step away.

The man did not speak again though. Harry crossed his arms in a gesture to prompt the other. His guide took out something from his inner pocket and started to chew it.

Harry started walking again. He did not have the leisure of wasting away an entire day like his useless guide.

“You do remember that I am a werewolf, right, kid? When you came here last time?”

"Even if I had, there were plenty of people reminding me today."

Had that happened last time? He did not remember. Many in Knockturn Alley had addressed him as ‘wolf’ and Harry would have taken that as his name, had he not remembered the scene from last time he had been here.

“Right.”

Harry was starting to feel hungry. He did not want to go back out and then to all the end of Diagon alley for a bit of kip. He should have gotten some snacks to chew on… His guide had been smart enough to do that at least, even though he had no idea what that brown and rubbery looking thing could be.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you scary stories about werewolves?”

Harry looked back, “My parents are dead. I have no memory of them.”

“Huh. No one to hold ya back from taking a jaunt into dangerous things, eh?” The kid hadn’t really anyone tell him from idiotic to brave, Scabier mused. One nagging question was solved.

“Sure.” The kid shrugged, “The first thing I did after their death was getting into everything I was told not to.”

Cripes. He really should think before blurting the first thought in his mind, as was his habit. The kid’s tone had been biting.

But then he had suggested his parents’ death as a casual way to be free from…well whatever it was that parents did and the kids loathed.

“Hey now. I din mean nothing by that. But.. well. Hold up one second, would you?”

The kid stopped marching ahead of him. It had been neigh frustrating to look at the back of that mess of brown and feel the boy taking everything he said with the seriousness of smoke.

The boy turned to him, blue eyes narrowed and eyebrow raised in the universal language of ‘what’.

Scabier was not the sort of person to go around pinching random kids' cheeks when they did something pouty and adorable. Brats were too nosy and noisy for him.

This one though… The sincerity with which the boy kept speaking, the maturity that the boy kept striving for. Even in that brattish way.

Everything was undone when one looked at the pursed little mouth and baby fat cheeks.

Scabier did not want to pet the kid.

He did not want to smile either-letting the other see his sharpened canines. He took a step back from the thoughts mentally.

“Look. Kid, I don’t... The Knockturn alley is not a good place for little kids to roam- ‘ his face had already turned mulish’ – no that any place is actually safe enough. That is the job of the guardians, to make sure no one gets into trouble, especially ones that can’t do magic without a wand.”

He thought of the time the kid had thought he could do magic just by waving his hand – and which friend had chirruped in his ear that he could?

“If you want, you can roam in Diagon alley as much as you want. You have no idea how dangerous Knockturn alley can be.”

The mulish face was churning even more and Merlin’s beard, he did not want to deal with a whiny kid.

The kid did not whine as much as speak in that same biting tone.

“I know how dangerous Knockturn alley can be. That is why I asked you with me, remember?”

“Yeah. You asked a stranger who was going to rob you the day before. You asked a stranger who is actually a werewolf. And you kept coming even after you knew this. Do you know anything about a werewolf…

"A werewolf is a human being, who on the complete rising full-moon transforms into a wolf. The condition is caused by infection by the bite of another werewolf on the nights of a full moon. Werewolves appear in the form of wolves upon their transformation. There are five distinct differences between a regular wolf and a werewolf. There is no control of either identity on the other.

Unless, they drink the wolfbane potion, which allows the werewolf to keep their human mind during transformation.”

After the little lecture in a high voice, the kid looked at him challengingly.

There was a beat of silence. And then Scabier sighed.

“There is no such potion.”

The kid’s brows furrowed. “Of course there is.”

“No!” Scabier almost yelled in frustration. These stupid kids. “I don’t know which idiot told you this. But there is nothing to save you from me. No potion. No spell. No charm. Do you think people are idiots for trying to avoid me and fear me?!”

Amazingly, the kid’s face was still mulish.

“I never come to you on a full-moon night. So I don’t see what’s wrong.”

Scabier bared his teeth at the foolish boy. “And how do ya know I won’t seek you out, eh? I know your smell now.” He took a deep breath of that innocence and slight sickness. It turned his stomach, but he didn’t let that show in his face. “How do you know I won’t get to you on a full moon night? No momma or papa to come running to you and I will get a full meal for once.”

The boy pursed his lips and asked.

“For once? You are talking about your wolfy times, right? Not all the time.”

The boy had the audacity to look concerned for him.

-t-m-ry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi!! How is it? There are a lot of times I need to dedicate for character development.. I tried to keep the chapters- not dull maybe?- but feedback, people! Is it your cup of tea? Did you feel like skipping some portion or two? Does it sound stiff somewhere? Am I putting my baby in your hand and asking if its ugly or not?  
> Yep.  
> aaanywayy-- is it obvious yet that its going to include lots of magical stuff? Kudos and reviews please if you enjoy the story!!  
> いってらっしゃい !!


	7. Farming and burials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delegation is advisable when you have tiny hands- take note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where the author thinks- can I drag Harry any more from his comfort zone? *Unbeta'ed

Harry ignored his sweltering brows as he planted the seeds apart by 2 feet - _no need to let them turn cannibals._

It was not hot per se, just dreadfully humid. Even the soft, satin tunic was sandpaper-friendly on his skin.

The Silvan owned land was not vast. There was a bit of space cleared in the front and just around the manor, but the rest of the land had been allowed to grow chase their own tails.

Rebellious and wild were not enough to note the disaster that was the Manor land.

Well, it had been _before_ Harry had scrutinized it and ordered his elves for a cruel massacre of the ferns and bushes. The reanimated elves- inferi-elves _(?)-_ elvish dolls( ** _yes_**!)- were slow in their task, but Harry had not waited to start the restructure until they were absolutely done.

The animals were shifted to the south corner from their former place- a compromise between acceptable distance from his home and his field.

He did _not_ want to hear their bleats day and night and he did _not_ want them to chew on his laboriously cultivated plants only to drop dead anyway.

The seeds were expensive! And the merry bunching before stone-cold rigor mortis would have him salvage nothing from the foolish animals. Even their meats would have been too poisonous then for the dinner.

And he would lost both the plants and the animals because of a casual oversight. So.

The little land was cleared by his dolls and that was where he was at that moment- some strides away from the house and **being _cooked inside first from this heat._**

Harry shook his head as he pushed another seed delicately. A small indent around it and Harry filled it with the diluted nutrient potion.

“Master!”

Harry grunted back.

“Young Master is having a guest.”

His hand jerked a bit and the seed was doused with the potion. But Harry was not looking at it anymore, “What?” He asked in confusion. The heat was getting to him apparently.

Or maybe it was getting to the poor elf.

He should shift the outdoors work to his dolls and let Mippy be in the manor.

“Master is having a guest, young master. Guest is wanting to see master.”

“What do you mean, guest?” Harry asked, completely incredulous. “I can’t have guests!”

Mippy was wringing her hands. “But.. young master is..”

“Right.” The potion doused seed was already starting to swell. Ugh. Of course, it was. “Who is he, did you ask?”

Mippy shook her head, “Mippy is not knowing.”

Harry shrugged it off, digging out the stupid thing before roots started coming out of it. “Never mind. Just get rid of him. I don’t want to see anyone.”

Mippy popped away.

Harry looked back at the last seed and tsked. It was utterly ruined. The potion was to make the soil more fertile, more nutritious for the plants. Since he didn’t have a wand and his wandless magic was as obedient as a Kraken poked with a stinging hex, he had had to rely on potions.

Times like these, he wished he was a tad more proficient in Magic other than defensive and offensive alone.

_Well_ , there was nothing to be done for the seed now.

Should he throw it away? Or maybe just keep it… to see what would happen?

He couldn’t take it back to the manor… who would know what might happen? The seed might grow to a tree the next time he woke from a nap; he might have an actual tree instead of simple wood for pillars.

He contemplated the idea of a gently swaying plant- with possible carnivorous tendencies in the middle of his house- for ridiculously serious minutes. Perhaps his mind was getting idler than he wanted- if it was leaning from mischievous to downright self-destructive…

“I see I was right in my concern.”

Harry jumped at the voice. Was he really so bored that his mind was beginning to have its own personality? _Why_ must it take up such a familiar voice though- that annoyingly familiar voice...

Harry turned around. His mind was taking up the face of that annoying person too.

“ _Really_?” Harry crossed his arms in grumption. It was not the first time either his subconscious mind had thought to pair up with his old professor’s face.

Old….

But this person in front of him- looking down with clear blue notice was not old, was he? Not the old headmaster with long, snowy beard tucked into his belt- not the one with age counted in the wrinkle in that wise face.

This person was not the one his mind would conjure- from fatigue or lunacy.

Bewildered Harry wiped the sweat dripping from his eyes.

The man kept staring at him most concernedly.

“Professor Dumbledore.”

Albus Dumbledore, **the bane of his existence** \- past and present smiled down at his dumb-founded face.

“How.. _why_ are you here? Wait. You are the guest?!”

_He much preferred the thought that his mind had started to melt from the heat._

“I became worried when you did not reply to my letter.” The man looked at him with that solemn concern- that what?

_That_ could not be the reason the most powerful man in recent history had sought out a scrawny twelve-year-old orphan in his home. Harry was not obliged to answer for his existence to any crooked noses- genial or otherwise.

His indignation did not stop him from feeling the weight that expectant professors tended to bring out in their wayward students.

“I was going to!” The man looked at him most skeptically and Harry insisted. “I was. The owl is still around here, I think.”

Albus Dumbledore continued to look at him with those disappointed blue eyes.

He wilted just slightly.

Well, it _was_ a bit rude toward him.

He could not think how he could have replied to that letter without that rudeness dripping in every syllable, though.

_Something was scratching at his palm. The seed had apparently seeded. He rolled it slightly, not giving it a chance to poke in and find his body fluids acceptable manure._

Harry cleared his thought and stood up. “Look, professor. It is very kind of you, but I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts. Sorry to disappoint you when you came all this way for me.

“You were there for no more than an hour. Surely you don’t find the whole of Hogwarts lacking based on that?”

Harry looked at him in confusion first, at the sentence that seemed to come out of nowhere.

What hour was he…

Oh.

Harry had put that time of mistaken identity out of his mind. It was more of the years that he had…

Harry retraced what he had spoken of last and mentally cursed himself.

This was the _second_ time he had referred to his past life. Another misstep and he might well land himself either in the Mind-healing ward of St. Mungo’s or the experiment desk of the unspeakable.

Or maybe he would be obliviated and serve in the loving arms of dementors- rotting away in the Azkaban prison. He would never even know what he did to deserve this fate.

Or whatever really happened to those who played with time.

While Harry was finding his mind back from the linear timeline he had lived and asking his mind to stick to the last six months’ knowledge, Albus Dumbledore was scrutinizing him.

Harry was careful in keeping his eyes completely averted.

Not that it would matter any.

Looking at those shades of blue he had become so intimate with- well, his mind blanked out promptly every time their eyes met.

“I understand, after your life of solitude you have become accustomed to it, child. But this life cannot sustain you for long.”

_Sure it can_. He thought stubbornly. It had before and **_he was not a child._**

He was not going to say that to the headmaster though.

Instead, he let annoyance flood his voice, “maybe. Maybe not. But don’t you think you are overstepping, headmaster? Entering another wizard’s house willy-nilly and what- I will take whatever you say?”

Dumbledore smiled faintly, “But who was I going to speak on your behalf? Your guardian? The ministry perhaps? They are not aware of the lack of your guardians, but surely you can be adopted as their ward.”

Harry stilled at the threat coated with cinnamon care, “How would you know? They could be just out… for work.”

So did the lies he tried- out to work and _failing miserably._

“Fire-call them then. I will apologize for my overture and talk to them of your schooling.”

Harry glared at him. Dumbledore smiled at him unrepentantly.

The man was like a leech. Try to pull him off and he would stick even more ‘ **_oooh, I see your struggle. Maybe there is an even more delicious secret underneath this. '_**

Harry opened his mouth … and all his annoyance, confidence, every bristling spine on the young body crumbled promptly.

“Let’s… let’s go back to the house? I can’t take this heat anymore.” He said in a slightly higher tone.

Dumbledore looked taken aback at the sudden request but followed him back to the house.

Harry kept his peripherals fixed on his dolls- **_his reanimated, death magic saturated and obviously dead with peeling skin and flesh dolls_** \- busy with their weeding and _not_ far from them.

\----

The boy was anxious. Albus Dumbledore kept a smile and a sharp eye on him.

The Silvans had been a recent addition under the British Ministry of Magic. After Dorian Silvan had severed his ties with the France based legacy, the small family had taken shelter in the isle. There had not been any close friends to speak of.

Why, before this he had not been aware of a Silvan family! They had to have been very much isolated. From friendly and hostile eyes alike. There was not much to know beyond what he had found from the ministry acquaintances in the past weeks.

Of the family Silvan, he came to know via this child that was sitting in front of him- sickly in appearance- the light shade of eyes and hair making the pale skin look even more helpless.

Yet, there was nothing vulnerable or weak about the stubborn light in the child’s eyes. The childish tone did not distract him from the maturity that the Silvan boy displayed.

There had been moments of amusement too- when the boy refused to cower before two stern adults. The boy had not bowed out, had continued to defend himself intelligently, completely in contrast to the pale face that depended on potions to stop trembling.

He had not given the headmaster an inch more than he must.

The boy had wrapped his sarcastic defense around him like a cloak- refusing to let anyone get close to him.

The more Albus had made a forward attempt, the more the child had shuffled back in askance.

He had to wonder, was it the death of his parents that had prompted this sudden acerbity.

He thanked the elf for the tea and crackers.

“You think you will be satisfied with this life? Your elf and you?”

The child shrugged. _Stubborn boy._

Well, If gentle words did not reach him...

"You understand, without proper education, you will not be allowed to perform any magic."

The boy stopped tapping his cracker on the plate and looked at him askance.

The boy had seemed so assured all the time, he had not quite expected for him to be stumped in this way.

Or well. Silvan _had_ been assured- had stood looking at him resentfully. Until...

_Something had shaken that._

Poorly supported bravado or not, he was just a boy after all. Dumbledore mused, happily munching through his plate of crackers.

He hummed while enjoying his tea. It was rather bland, and he dumped three more lumps of sugar in there.

He ignored the disgusted looks of his young companion. The boy’s reluctance had been curious at first- but now… he wondered at the poorly contained anxiety in front of him.

Fear?

The boy had not been afraid of him when they had first met. He had not been afraid mere five minutes ago.

But now, small toes kept knocking the table. The boy was absolutely unaware of how obvious he was.

\-----

Harry kept his mind focused on the redheaded and red-bearded man in front of him- well he _hoped_ he did.

One of his dolls turned to look at him beyond the window and Harry could _feel_ the tug at their bond- expectant for an order, because _Master kept thinking of them_.

Harry did _not_ whimper out loud, he did let out a yell though.

“MONEY!”

Albus Dumbledore looked a bit startled at his abrupt screech. Harry dove headfirst into the agony that had been his financial situation. He let his thoughts, his every anxiety be suffused with that sole cause.

Leaving no space for any other thought- especially the walking catastrophe- ** _no no-no_**.

The professor looked bemused at the frantic child in front of him. The boy looked ready to pull at his hair. He kept twisting his forefinger almost violently.

Very much in contrast with the sullen and serious child he had been but a while ago.

Puberty did strange things to different people, he mused.

He did not reach out to gentle the other’s flusters- the boy would give into his flight first instinct no doubt.

“We, at Hogwarts, have a provision for providing in these kinds of situations. You need not worry child."

None of the tension vanished from the thin shoulders.

“Right. Right, Tha’s good. Uhm... I will give it more thought then.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips in faint displeasure.

The man could frown all he wanted, Harry did not give a doxy’s arse.

“Surely you could not have any more reservations?”

"Look, Professor Dumbledore. This is not a very good time for me. I need to rest." He hopped down in emphasis. Mippy was looking at him most worriedly, either in confusion because Harry never admitted his weakness- until it dragged him to the floor or fear because Harry _never_ admitted his weakness and hence her master must be in dire state indeed!

_You know what?_

He dropped the seed in the hot tea before making a half-step from his destination- the soft blanket trailing behind him- and gave a closed-lip smile.

“You are right, professor. I will attend Hogwarts.”

Albus Dumbledore looked perplexedly on the eyes that were narrowed at him- void of any sparkle, at the mouth that was grimacing a moment ago but now kept beaming at him.

Harry did not give him time to recover from the personality shock.

“Yes. You managed to convince me! I have been such a fool!” Harry tsked at himself.

What was the man still dawdling around for?

Spoon-fed creatures these people! Drain the subtlety and guide them out by hand!

Or the blinking blue eyes would start a discourse on whys and hows...

So Harry walked up to the wizard, thankfully the height not such a sore when Dumbledore was seated and patted his arm.

Guileless blue- mirroring the crystal white of his mentor- blinked up, “I am thankful that you made such an effort on my behalf, professor. I am sorry I can’t keep you for longer.” He gave a tremulous smile. “I hope you will forgive me.”

He did not wait to hear any “Of course.” Or “wait, My boy.” But turned to Mippy .”Please guide the professor out and hurry back. I need you.”

He did not stay to let Dumbledore see his thankful posture but trotted away from them.

However might he be worried that Mippy might not get rid of him properly, the more he stayed- the more there was the possibility that his dolls would wander in and stare at him-

He sighed at the shuffling sound.

_Timely riddance of that pest._

With another sigh, he collapsed on the ground- the adrenaline had drained much of his strength away.

He wanted to pet their heads, but the maggots had not finished their feeding yet.

They stood docile, harmless, and sweet. _But was anyone going to accept it as he did?_

Was Dumbledore going to pat their bony fingers or feel the pride at being their creator? Harry snorted.

The punishment for necromancy- the darkest of all Magics- was harsher than any other. In a life he had left behind- his friends had whispered to him worriedly- of the trial-less execution.

A necromancer would not even be fed to the dementor’s- no, the ministry had feared long ago that the soul-ess monsters (necromancers in this context, not dementors) must have a fail-safe to escape. To rise in another body and continue their life.

His friends had talked about eternal imprisonment- subjected to the dubious mercy of the ministry. Opportunity for the unspeakable to be armed against any other future abominations.

Harry shuddered again at the hissed warnings.

“No one is going to appreciate you guys," Harry said mournfully to his dolls. 

They agreed in their silence.

“Master!”

Mippy hopped around him in distress when she saw his master collapsed on the ground and her master joined in her lament at the unfairness of it all.

\----

Mippy had not been happy with his decisions- either of them. She did not want Master Adr-Harry to go away from home. Who would be there to mind his potions and sleep? Who would be there to remind the young master of his meals? Surely without her, Master Harry would be set back his recovery with how carelessly he treated himself. She just knew it.

Harry had been mite peeved at how she had reduced him to a toddler with least self-awareness. Anyhow…

Harry did not say anything about the potions master in Hogwarts or the hospital wing. Well, _firstly_ he had not had much faith in their sincere care, and secondly, it would break the poor elf's heart.

She had been particularly protesting of his decision to leave her behind. She was not fond of new places at all but at least, she could be sure of one reliable care-taker for her young master. No. She did not like this _at all._

But Harry needed her in the manor. If no one were to stay back to look after this thing- he did not want to think of the living and non-living parasites that might take refuge there.

He did not want to spend his next break cleaning after the critters and ghouls that might have slunk in there _. And it was not like his magic would be of any help in that._ He thought to himself in slight disgust.

Most importantly, he needed his elf to stay and look after the plants and herbs that he had left seeded. To reach their full potential, they might need his delicate and attentive care, but to abandon them to the glee of nature… His heart whimpered at the callous waste of both money and the way his future plans would have to be postponed to another year… He shook his head stridently.

He was taking no chance.

The feeding of the farm animals was least prioritized in his mind. He had bought them in a whim so that the _sacrifices_ would be close, should he need them.

He did not want to go chasing after one like he had done it the last time.

Not that Mippy knew that particular purpose of the roosters and goats. And he was not going to enlighten her.

His two successful experiments- ahem _.. darling dolls_.. would have to be led to sleep. _For now._

Harry dearly lamented saying good-bye to the decaying bodies. They had been so very helpful in preparing the land around the manor, leading him to the nooks of the manor that he could not have known about and being very good sentries,

And well, a nice boost to a fallen necromancer’s pride.

But he could not accept the risk of their teeter getting loose.

So long as he stayed in the manor, their leash was controlled and seen. Should he leave for Hogwarts that was all the way in Scotland though-

They might do nothing more than a stroll to the nearest village- and this was the most _benign_ possibility. Of course- the _consequences_ were not so benign.

Harry figured the consequences would be nigh unmanageable should they pop in the great hall of Hogwarts in the middle of dinner- because they missed their master. Yes, that was one of the worst possibilities that occurred to him.

It would be so very fun though for the nearby muggle village left to the mercy of rotten corpses…

_He could hardly see the fruits of labor anyway_. Harry hung his disappointment.

And so he had gently let them dig back to their graves.

And sat there throughout the entire process- mourning already. (His forefinger was empty every time he touched it.)

_So, he might be a tad biased for the adorable helpers that were first in this life! He deserved it!_

He had stayed for the afternoon, sighing after them, his fingers clutching the craving knife that had finished etching a few more runes on the graves. By the time he returned for the short days of easter (or Christmas, whichever he could get away with), their bodies should be completely decayed, leaving only the dry bones.

There would no splotches of skin and flesh in the corridors and no stench that even the completely besotted necromancer could tolerate.

He did not tell it all to his elf. There would be absolute rebellion.

And the emotional manipulations he had tried on her had not been quite enough.

That was alright- he had had a month to wear off her anxieties.

(And Harry did not want to tell her, but the promise of meals in Hogwarts was a huge factor behind his decision.)

\----

Albus Dumbledore nodded at Tom, the barman of Leaky Cauldron. He had reserved a room upstairs- for a wee while. Now, he waited while cutting into the piping hot omelet.

They could talk here of course- but _well_ , there had been plenty of friends dropping on the empty seat beside him ever since he had sat down.

The boy was likely to look at the crowd, and turn right around.

He smiled a bit, thinking of the sulky face that was often carried. Such a small child with the burden of his health and his family- he wondered when he had started to craft the haughty defense.

The loyalty of Dorian and Mallory Silvan was not known- he had no idea if they had chosen to follow Tom. (Ah, but he chose to go by Voldemort now, didn’t he? Cutting off all his roots as if those were not the ones that had made him.)

Adrien Silvan had plenty of the distrust and suspicious personality that might remind him of another.

But for all the defense and barbs of sarcasm- the boy was absolutely naked in his emotions.

He had been whimsical, annoyed, exasperated- the spectrum of emotions lighting up the small face. ( He had been appreciative and happy too- it had been unexpected. It had taken the professor by surprise and he would not admit of his intrigue to that.)

It had been curious. It had been interesting.

And Albus Dumbledore was not a man like any other- weak to his curiosities.

He had been most curious about the dark magic that had clung to the boy though.

_So young and yet that instrument had twisted and turned for hours in his office._

“Another cuppa, professor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't think too hard about the flora and fauna I might be dumping on your head! They are all scrambled nonsense and have pitiful life in this story. This story is the first one I will be juggling a lot of characters at the same time and for a long time. My head is a busy, dizzy place. I don't want them to bleed into each other. I don't want me to bleed into any of them. Gah. *tizzy dizzy fuzzy  
> Can I ask my lovely readers to keep an eye out anyway? Just anytime anyone seems to have become a schizophrenic maniac with multiple personality disorder....  
> Is the upload rate okay? Or would you like more time in between? I understand now that things are getting picked up, some people are having to pull a lot more hours than before..  
> Now then, you people know the works. Kudos and reviews if you like!! >.<


	8. Old friends and old pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man and a child go shopping. Guess who is which?

Harry huffed a bit while clutching his Hogwarts letter. And put a finger on one side of the nose to exhale the rest of the ash clogging his nostril.

It fell right on the shoe of another person who came trotting out the floo.

Harry got a nasty glare and that man got an unsympathetic shrug.

Dramatic snobs really.

Harry turned his head away to look around, biting his cheek in minor consternation.

He got jarred on his shoulder when another person came via the floo and landed almost on top of him.

“Ah, sorry!” but the lady had already trotted off with a sniff at him.

He better move away from the floo gate, hm?

Harry searched the pub again, but there was no flash of silver-red that would guide him to his future professor.

He looked through the pub without particular attention at anybody.

After all, he didn’t want any particular attention on him either.

The chatter was _grating_. The forced company even more so.

_Why_ , he grumbled to himself again, _why should the headmaster care now?_

The boy that had been the eleven-year-old Tom Riddle had a pouch of coins and Hogwarts list shoved at him and sent on his merry way. Tom was an orphan- knowing nary a thing of the Magical World. And _eleven_!

_Why_ was a twent-twelve…almost thirteen-year pureblood needed his hand held? He was not going to be a hazard in the completely Magical district!

Harry straightened out the crumpled envelope of the Hogwarts letter carefully.

“What do you need, lad?”

Harry grimaced when a man near him belched and fixed their ruddy eyes on him.

“I am just waiting for someone, sir.”

The man hollered (Harry promptly winced) ,” Tom!”

On second thoughts, it was well that the man had taken an interest in him.

Because the headmaster was not waiting in the pub. He wasn’t late either.

He had been waiting in a room upstairs. Tom had promptly shoved him inside- promising to return with a piping hot lemon pie.

Harry would never admit exhaling in relief from being away from that curious crowd- that smell of breath and food combined, chatter that was less of hum and more of a screech on his tired person.

He almost wanted to thank the headmaster for being somehow considerate.

“I hope you did not mind the extra stairs, my dear boy! I could not stay when I saw the minister’s owl headed my way! I do hope it did not see me. I am fairly optimistic!”

Harry sighed again.

“You could always give me an excuse. I am sure the minister wouldn’t mind.” The minister would froth- that a child’s Diagon alley visit was more important than him.

Albus Dumbledore looked down at the sullen child.

He said nothing to the other of the familiarity the boy took up with him.

But slotted away that fraction of puzzle in his mind.

A slice of lemon pie and tap of the wand just to the right brick( three up and two across) and...

“Welcome to Diagon Alley.”

(Mind you, it was the tap that led to the alley and not the pie. There had been one or two who had tried that- though they were pretty gone on the firewhiskey too).

The surprise was lost upon Harry, even the surprise that had been of very familiar place years far into the past. After all, he had already been here- after he had apparated with the help of Mippy, desperate to understand the mess he had found himself in. Many pureblood children must have been to the Diagon Alley before their Hogwarts letter- or so Harry hoped.

His inability to act was a reason to despair.

At any rate- if Dumbledore was expecting him to crane his head and watch the hub-bub with bug-eyed wonder and ignore the rush of witches and wizards crushing his tiny body away with their girth- he would let the man wallow in disappointment.

Who asked him to be his guide anyway!

“Albus! Curious I see you here!”

It was the start of a very long day.

\------x-----

Despite his hesitation, Dumbledore was unexpectedly helpful in shopping for his Hogwarts supplies. They had gone straight to Madam Malkins’, the headmaster found himself very interested in a display of oddest Wizarding hats Harry had ever seen even on the eccentric man.

“What do you think of this, my boy?”

It was purple with cauldrons floating down the brim. “It will be fantastic on a potions master.” He suggested very seriously

Dumbledore nodded at the sage advice and Harry turned away from the giggles that threatened him when he thought of Snape with the purple hat.

But Severus Snape was not the potions master at Hogwarts. In the other time, he had been dead for years. But then so had been _Dumbledore_.

Harry shut himself against the flood of memories that suffocated him, confused his present with the past.

His head was starting to throb.

"Are you alright?" Harry looked at the kind brown eyes of the assistant that was pinning his clothes and smiled before politely refusing the offer of a wide-brimmed blue Wizarding hat.

The headmaster had controlled himself acutely in the Flourish and Botts’ bookstore. He pointed out the shelves of alchemy and advanced charms, asked the shop-keep if there were any new magazines to be published but they were not there for more than half an hour.

Well, if truth be told the professor was more enthusiastic about their shopping than the new Hogwarts student was.

By himself, he would have found it annoying, but the older man by his side kept his attention diverted.

“It is well and good for everything you need. But for advanced courses, you might want to try Penn. There is quite some time for that now.”

“Gold cauldron is best for the brews that have a tendency to err.. explode. Best not to go for that, hmm.”

“You do not want a second-hand trunk, my boy! Why there was one student whose charms failed and he had to be rescued from the mounds of books he had stored in there!”

“Personally, I prefer cats. Now if only they could grow wings…”

“Of course, owls are perfectly fine too. Dogs – Mrs. Norris would be in a quite ditzy. Flich would be insufferable for the entire time. But it is alright!”

“Ohh no. Mrs. Norris is the cat- not Flich! Well- thank you nonetheless- for making my year a bit more peaceful.”

What did make the day not so enjoyable were

“Professor Dumbledore- an absolute honor!”

“Blessed be my heart, I never imagined-

“Gloria, have you seen who is around our-

“Professor is far too kind- why in my days-

“A Hogwarts student? Oh-

"We are delighted! Oh, absolutel-

"Please stay awhile, Professor! Rolf would be-

“My dear Sir, this is not at all-

He did not quite remember Dumbledore being quite so revered in his time. Respected, feared, and sometimes loathed as well- but

Then again, he did not think he ever saw the man out in a public place either.

He remembered the wonder at the faces of those who met the great Albus Dumbledore and the shops that welcomed them warmly.

\--

"Ollivander is the best when it comes to wands. Why I remember when I had my first wand. Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever seen the man as young."

Harry mostly had drifted out of the oddly verbose headmaster. He did not know why the man did not seem dissuaded by his taciturn behaviour.

Maybe the exhaustion of the day was getting to him- because the headache had spread to his skull now.

And the idiotic chatter. Wouldn’t. Stop.

For a moment or two- Harry happily imagined setting the beard on fire.

But that would just invite more wails and shrieks, wouldn't it?

“Ah, here we are.”

Ollivander's was as old and..creepy as he remembered. The windows outside were covered by stray advertisements- and the wandmaker had not bothered taking them off. Scant light reached inside the shop- lit only by dull blue lights.

The dark shelves had intimidated one eleven year old once upon a time.

The thirteen-year-old boy instead frowned at the gentle hums and strange sighs he could almost feel vibrate in the air.

“What do we have here?”

Harry cursed himself for jumping, _again_ , and Ollivander for taking his amusement out of young children,

"A rather late entrant into Hogwarts. His parents had not accepted the admission letter. However, it seems that young Silvan does not have a choice anymore if he wishes to continue his education."

Large, soulful eyes turned to him, dripping sympathy, “My condolences, young heir.”

Blue eyes averted themselves from penetrating gaze, “I thank you, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Now then, give me your dominant hand, Mr. Silvan.”

Harry gingerly raised his right, noting with some curiosity that the measuring tape had not made an appearance.

Harry was curious. His Magic was boiling and freezing inside of him. It was as untrained as it could be for a thirteen-year-old wizard- ordinary wizard (he was sure Dumbledore and Riddle had their magic as obedient as a unicorn on the first try.)

His body was too fragile to take on the strain of wandless magic- not to mention the added assimilation it accepted after the ritual.

His magic had become a stranger to him.

Ah- how he had mourned.

He was not particularly eager to accept this strange body- but he was curious, what kind of wand would favour Adrien- or rather Hadrien Silvan now. (it was not the magic that had once belonged to young Adrien either.)

After all, it was the wand that chooses the wizard, was it not?

“Hmm, how curious.” Ollivander blinked at him again, before disappearing within the selves. Harry almost rolled his eyes, the man had a set of lines he spoke, it seemed.

Honestly, it did not at all seem any different than his first visit to Ollivander's.

“Try this one.”

Harry gingerly took it.

The light coloured wand exploded in his hand when the small fingers had only grazed it and- and – **_what_**

**_What was this_ **

**_What_ **

**_why_ **

**_..was happening_ **

-Harry sank to his knees, dazed and shivering.

_sandpaper_ _scratches against his veins_

_Clogging his mouth and nose_

Harry heaved.

_Stomach coiling and his organs screaming._

_-ngh-_

_Too tight skin._

_~~It wanted to get out~~ _

\--en! Are you alright?”

_~~Out~~ _

_~~out~~ _

_hah._

_Ahhaha_

_So this is how it feels when magic rejects you._

_Hah!_

Harry giggled a bit hysterically.

“Hadrien!”

“Ow! -hy?” Harry abruptly regained his senses.

The man who had slapped him for no reason was not looking guilty at all- but concerned.

“Calm yourself down, my boy.”

_Ah. He was on the verge of a breakdown._

“Oh. ‘m fine.”His eyes fleeted away- betraying the forced serenity in his voice-“din- didn’t ‘xpect.. _hah_.”

“You are not fine.”

_No, he wasn't. But, everyone else was outsiders-_

_**no one could know the truth of it.**_

A hand squeezed his shoulder.

And that is when he realized he was in the headmaster’s lap.

!!

The headmaster didn’t look amused at all, “I have you now, Hadrien.”

Harry couldn’t rebuff the support even if he was embarrassed.

The old hands held him up well; dark spots were dominant beneath in his eyelids and he gritted his teeth so as not to sink to the floor in a dead faint.

“It is as I suspected.” The words were coming from too deep an abyss and even as Harry unconsciously clutched at the orange sleeves of his headmaster, he could not stop his knees from trembling. “Your magic is far too unstable. It is a wonder that it has not burned itself and _you_ from inside. Nonetheless, I am afraid, you cannot use a wand.”

No. Wait.

He was drifting in and out still- mind and soul trembling alike- but he held on stubbornly.

Harry couldn’t accept it like that.

“It is my body- tha’s weak.” He dribbled out pathetically- pushing through the lethargic muscles. He glared up at the faded man. He knew his body was too fragile as of yet. He knew his magic was rebellious at best.

This could not be happening.

“The wand is suppos’ to be a guide!” He bit out.

Ollivander stopped from where he had already retreated back to the counter- ready to dismiss one not of his domain anymore. But he turned with a sparkle of interest to the boy- the strange boy-who spoke far beyond the knowledge of its peers.

“Yes indeed.” So very few gave their wands the respect it deserved. So very few understood what a wand was meant for. He was pleased. “But your magic is not settled, not like one your age should have by now. A toddler might direct their magic better than you. A wand is not meant as a cane to the blind.”

Harry understood what he meant.

“I am not **_blind_** to magic. I am not a squib.” He sneered at Ollivander.

Dumbledore spasmed a bit behind him. He was left ignored by the two who were glaring at each other.

“No, indeed not.” The wandmaker inclined his head. “Nonetheless, unless your magic has settled down, this one can do nothing for you.”

Harry gritted his teeth, but he had a final question to ask.

“My magic though- it is not actually rejecting me?”

Because, weak body? He could enhance it via potions and training.

Overwhelming magic- he could drain the residues via rituals and runes.

Magic rejection?

There was nothing to be done.

Ollivander stopped from where he was putting away the wand to its box, “No. There is no rejection.”

But his brows were furrowed in thought.

\------x------

Harry had not rejected Dumbledore’s gentle nudge into the ice cream parlor.

At this moment, they were sitting in the outdoors ( mint flavoured for the older man and triple chocolate layered for Harry.

“You knew about what Ollivander was talking about, didn’t you? You were ah...upset, but hardly surprised.”

Harry hid a small shiver, even engulfed as he was in his cloak, and answered in a whisper, “I suspected, yes. But I had hoped maybe, a wand would guide my magic better.”

Dumbledore waited for him to speak more than in terms of vague Ollivander terms- but well Harry was struggling to understand it himself.

Oh, he knew the causes and the effects- but what it all ultimately meant-he was stranded still at that point.

“I have certainly never heard of such things happening.” Dumbledore hummed.

Both of them took a bit of the frozen treat, one thoughtful and the other downtrodden.

“Does this mean I can’t attend Hogwarts anymore?”

Albus tapped his spoon against his glass thoughtfully. “We are a primarily a magical institution, yes. Have you heard of some courses offered to the ah..magically impaired?"

Harry knew precisely what was being asked and he leaped from the chair, gathering his wilting strength.

"Did I not say it already? I am not a squib, professor! I have magic, Granted, it is not... I can not use it without knocking myself out, But I am not any less of a wizard! It is fine if Hogwarts won't have me, but you will not look at me with the pitying eyes... stop it!" Harry shrieked.

“Of course, my boy. Please sit down. People are staring.” Wide-eyed in his vulnerability, Harry looked around to see, indeed they were. A small sound escaped him and Harry slumped into the chair.

Moments passed before the silence was broken and in the aftermath of his rant, Harry pushed around the still-frozen ice cream in his bowl, his appetite lost.

Even Mr. Ollivander could not say anything much about it. There is no knowing when the magic flowing in his core would be his again.

"There are some courses in Hogwarts that wouldn't need the active participation of the wand. Potions, arithmancy, ancient runes, astronomy, divination, History, and Care of Magical Creatures. They will accept your inner magic. Of course, you have to attend the transfiguration, charms, and defence against dark arts. I am afraid, they are compulsory subjects up to owl years."

Harry was watching stupefied at the nonchalant headmaster who had taken out a parchment and started scribbling on it.

"We have to inform all the professors concerned, make sure that they don't demand a practical demonstration from you. Horace will be helpful. I am sure if a little disappointed.

A small hand wrapped around the wrinkled one, the gesture bold and imbued with old memories.

“Professor, thank you.”

“No need to thank me, my boy. Hogwarts would not turn away one who needs it

It was as he was leaving him, that the guilt nudged Hadrien.

“I have nothing against squibs, professor. Just so you know.” He said awkwardly.

They took a while more- discussing his options and potential repercussions.

Seeing as how his magic was volatile, Harry couldn't take part in the practical lessons- they couldn't be sure that the magic wouldn't adversely interact with another.

There were some safe areas where he didn’t need to use his magic explicitly- such as divination, care of magical creatures, astronomy, and history of magic and arithmancy.

They pondered on it-

“Ollivander spoke of your body being too weak.” The professor started.

“I am fine!” Was his automatic response. “It is a past issue.” Harry stroked the spoon with his thumb and peered at the professor under his lashes. The professor remained silent. His hand moved back to smoothen the wrinkles on his robes, “Anyway, my elf is taking care of it.”

The professor replied after taking a pause, “I will have Madam Pomfrey have a look at you.” The old man’s face was more wrinkled than his robes.

Harry snorted and looked away.

“I am not weak.”

The professor patted his hand, “Of course not.”

It felt distinctly patronizing.

\----

The day after the wand debacle, Harry left the manor. Mippy fussed about him- but Harry dismissed her concern.

His hands were trembling- his entire body felt as if being walked over by a colony of ants.

_~~He needed to-~~ _

_~~Needed-~~ _

_But his Lord had denied him entry to his realm for the moment._

With a growl, he had snatched up a travelling cloak and hadn’t bothered changing to better attire.

He walked around mindlessly, watched the creatures he was rearing, watched the plants he cultivated nourishing.

_~~He needed-~~ _

The Aztec scriptures were left abandoned on the desk- open at the prose that called upon the deity of death. Of course, it held no true power, not unless he willed it so (But the prose was beautiful in essence. He remembered the first time he had read it, overwhelmed and overcome.

The first time he had perused it-embarrassment had kept him from doing more than going back. It had taken some time before he had let his words soar and reach his magic.

Clarity came to all in different forms. It was to him as Death was- faithful and absolute.

And now, he could only remember those times. He could only read the beautiful scriptures and let them be lay cold in his mouth.

_He could meditate still-_

-if he took care to keep the words empty and divorced from his magic. He could not let them intertwine with each other- flowing through his body so beloved.

So he could- and he must keep calm and he must not let his magic rise. He must not feel it in his veins.

_Simply empty words-_

He wandered through- the silence slowly bearing down on him- and the thoughts became louder in his head.

Instead of letting Mippy apparate him or floo to the Diagon Alley- he decided to take a cab to central London.

He roamed in central London for a while. The streets were not so thronged with human clamour. He kept his outer coat folded in his arms- the warm weather sticking to his skin.

His eyes passed over the streets and the signs. A bakery there. A coffee shop over on that side. A building rising high and the formally dressed people rushing within.

A street that would open up to a row of houses. 

Harry observed apathetically at the muggle world.

Everything was so mundane. Their excitement over mundane things, the rigidity, and discipline that ruled their lives.

Their motors drove slow and steady on the roads- meekly down par the drivers’ intentions.

The books lay limp and frozen on the shelves.

The windows only let the aroma of fresh bread being baked.

Everyone was so very neat and tidy- hats sitting in proper places, limbs shuffling in a proper manner.

They looked at the strange child who was standing on the road and observing them- and looked away.

As was proper.

Shells of flesh and bones.

So very mundane,

Even the muffin he was holding onto. Harry stared at it in slight disgust.

What was he doing here?

He handed over five pence to the woman behind the counter. She had a stiff lip to his forced smile. Mayhaps she saw his less than appreciative reaction to her precious creation.

If the muggle world was pathetic. The Diagon alley was suffocating.

Every brush of skin and clothes made his overworked nerves screech.

Every delighted scream of children-

Every chatter was so close to his ears-

Harry strode promptly to the left and entered the notorious Knockturn Alley.

Numbly he walked on- uncaring eyes taking on the leering faces that pooped out from the corners, a particularly rancid smell coming out of a shop, the furtive trading among a group with a guy pushing in something with squirming inside a bag.

The sun was on the decline. A shadow fell to his left.

“Have you not had enough of this place, boy?”

The rank odour and the hoarse tone told him of his companion without him having to confirm it.

Today though, Harry did not care for chatter- nothing that would burden his already laden thoughts.

“Have you not had enough of _my_ company?” He muttered back.

“I will not have your folk come asking after me when you reappear in bits and pieces.”

“I will leave behind the proof of your innocence in my diary.”

"Much gratitude to your kindness, young master." The older man replied in the same snarky tone.

Harry flicked his blue eyes but for a moment to the other person. He was perhaps a bit more dishevelled and coated with grime and dirt than he remembered the last time.

"Where is your bedroll? Have you left your corner to snuggle with the gutter?”

“Am I being offensive to the little princess’ senses?”

Harry nodded.

Scabier scoffed and moved away- far enough for the distance to keep an eye, but not enough to distort the boy’s _delicate senses_.

The boy was blunt- not caring should he sting one’s pride- typical of the privileged as they stomp their way through life in that passive cruel ways.

The tense shoulders had relaxed as he had moved away, Scabier had scoffed to himself (and he had surreptitiously taken a sniff at himself- it was _not_ as horrid as the boy made it out to be. Really.)

Scabier kept on musing on his decision to keep the boy in his sight- he had no particular wish to keep getting reminded of his status in society thank you very much.

The older man had come to the conclusion that he was kinder than he had thought- and that was not a very nice thing either. Not when the boy- the subject of his kindness- kept looking down him with the snotty nose in the air and the rest of the alley sneered at him, called him a pureblood’s drooling pet...

Scabier did not feel like being kind today- but his legs had dragged him up and away when he had seen the boy scroll down the alley thoughtlessly.

Yes, he was kinder than he knew- and he deeply resented that.

The boy was a stiffer than usual today though. He did not seem to have come here with an actual reason either! He gave that thought a couple of moments before he decided there was no need to turn his kindness to meddling. And another stomp of a snub.

That brought him back to the mind- why was he still following the boy?

Did he really like being stomped on so much?

His ears reddened and Scabier firmly thumped his own head. Griselda- that stupid hag was putting strange ideas in his mind.

Scabier hissed out at the boy, pulling away from the shadows that had been hiding him, “You do not want to take that turn, boy.”

The boy in question looked back at him with glazed eyes, before looking back to the street they had both came.

Apparently, they had been both a little lost in their thoughts to mind where their steps were taking them. They had taken a turn and now they were near tail-end to one of the branches of the Knockturn alley. Not the belly of the monster really- but isolated and _well_ \- not very safe.

Not for the delicate, prissy princess at least.

“Really?” The boy asked sceptically, looking in front of him.

And well, maybe that which was in front of them did not look particularly dangerous. It proudly said “Fang’s den” hanging from the wooden board. One wild mongoose was twined around it, hiding the ‘d’ behind the bushy tail. They could hear faint laughter and voices from inside already. But the windows were boarded up- not letting them peer inside.

That did not stop the smell of roasted meat from wafting out.

It might seem more inviting to go inside the warmth than stay anymore near where there was a stench of vomit and dirty rags lying around.

Scabier curled his lips in disgust.

“I am hungry.” It occurred to the boy. That stupid- stupid boy. Scabier wanted to hold to that thin shoulder and shake them rather violently.

But the boy looked so fragile- he did not want that petite head to accidentally fall off.

"I will take you back to the leaky cauldron," Scabier assured him.

The boy was not listening to him, but was staring at that place in fascination, “I never saw it before.”

“Two visits did not make you the king, brat.” Scabier gritted out, his fingers were itching already.

Maybe he could thump him instead?

Real gentle like- no holes anywhere on the boy.

He did not resist that particular impulse, when the boy took another step forward, “No.”

The boy didn’t even wince- but looked at him with annoyance, looking nothing more than a petulant and spoiled brat.

The boy did not even rub his head.

Well then. The boy could take a shake or two.

“You are not going in there. Do you know what they would do to little boy wizards like you? Chew you up and spat you out. Are you listening to me, you stupid annoying ..”

The boy was pointing to the shadows of the shop. Scabier turned with a snarl.

“So that is the brat and his mutt I have been hearing about, eh?”

Harry said nothing in favour of taking in the other's ripped appearance and the disgusting habit of licking his lips obscenely.

His companion had frozen- from anger or fear- what Harry couldn’t know.

The man tsked when neither answered him -hence he gave another murky smile.

“But the young master wanted to come inside, didn’t he?”

Harry nodded. “I am hungry.” He said simply.

The other’s dark eyes brightened, “And who are we to keep you from being sated. Do come inside, young lord.”

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy.. whichever holiday you lot are enjoying at your communities! Even winter is something I can wish to the northern hemisphere..  
> Anyway- the pace and the style of chapter will be different from here on out. We will have multiple people- multiple personalities. In the marauder era, not many people are known - I don't have a set base-line for people and I have had to establish multiple OC's. Am I nervous as heck? Yup. This is a gamble- this story- and let's us all hope this works out.  
> I am trying to direct the story in one way and it meanders in another- makes me go all QAQ. Well.. we'll find out how it goes out eventually, eh?  
> Don't forget about the kudos and the Comment what you like about the story and also what you don't! I love every reader's opinions! Thank you to my lovely supporters and diligent readers. Even when I sometimes get discouraged- it is you words that make me strive forward! Love to all my sweet ones! See you next chapter.


	9. New faces and Old Weaknesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does it look when a baby necromancer lets his temper slip?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAh! I am sorry for the delay! I had some exams. But I did have my draft ready-I just.. rewrote the whole thing thrice over again.  
> *Sigh  
> Thank you for the supports so far my dear, sweet readers- my update might suffer sometimes- but for you, I will try to give only my best to you.  
> (Which means my previous chapters might get a slight edit every now and then- nothing major, though, no worries- otherwise I would have to throw out the whole story too- hehe  
> *sob

_Previously- Harry and his guide strolled into the belly of Knockturn alley, both preoccupied with their thoughts and banters. Fang's den was a pub in a hole that Scabier found... something to be avoided. Whichever way their argument might have gone- the entry of another person, his cordial( ?) invitation, and most importantly- Harry's curiosity had them inside soon after._

Harry was sure they would have gone unnoticed had the man not made a grandiose spectacle out of it.

The door was flown cleanly off its hinges.

“Look my dear friends, what the night blesses us with!”

That uninvited companion strode right in; arms open as wide as his smile. Heads swivelled in their direction and one particular fellow stomped towards them.

"Din't I say it, Rosa.. din't I? If you can’t fix it, stop making it worse! "

_This person didn't look like a Rosa- but, eh- to each their own._

Rosa drooped his shoulders- looking like a demented hunchback with how tall he normally was- and widened his smile, gesturing towards the two of them as if the attention on them was not enough, “I couldn’t resist sharing my findings, brother! A wizard and its pet - why not treat them properly, I thought!”

“Then put that thought right proper where it supposed ta be!”

A bit of modification and this Rosa would be a perfect, over-enthusiastic mutt showing off their latest kill.

The entire things was ruining his appetite.

Harry tsked and looked away from the drama to scan the pub they had entered.

If rosa had meant to attract everyone’s notice, he had noticed.

Every pair of eyes were fastened on them.

“Hah. Looks tinier than I thought.”

Harry felt Scabier move undecidedly next to him.

“Wait till it brings along its mates.”

Whispers floated up from the nearest tables.

“A wizard! Where did he come from?!”

Harry almost felt his eyes roll up to his head. Hard.

“Look at that soft skin! Reckon my teeth would sink to the bone?”

Harry looked up, brows quirking, when Scabier put a right hand on his nearest shoulder- the tendons all strung tight.

They were hardly familiar enough for casual touch- but Harry gave the poor man a little pat. Scabier seemed all out of sorts, tense eyes roving around.

Harry was inured to public loathing and much outlandish behaviour (although the comment of him being ‘tiny’ did sting a little), but Scabier seemed particularly sensitive to such things.

Perhaps this why he was against going in the first place?

Harry looked up regretfully at the man, only to find the man looking back at him with a desperate-seeming expression. His hair was all dishevelled- or rather more dishevelled than usual- in that sort minutes and the grip on his shoulder was starting to throb.

No matter, he will protect his own.

Harry gave the man another pat. The man twitched in his grasp.

“Lor! didn’t I tell you?”

"Hey, Tim! I will have that one!"

And by **_that_** , he strongly suspected that the menu might just have walked in.

Scabier hissed at him, “You have gotta get out of here.”

Harry consoled him, “You don’t need to worry. We will be quite alright.”

Empty words- meant for intimidation, but-

Rosa sifted to their position in a blink of an eye.

 _Vampire?_ Harry tilted his head when the grinning man circled around them

“Oh no no no- there is no more grace to be had, Scabier! No more hiding away! Let us feast upon your **_precious_** young master!”

Scabier growled.

Harry looked away from the whiteboard detailing today's menu to frown at the man, "That. Is rude."

Rosa curled his lips, “Ah? Not fond of our hosting, young wizard?”

“Not fond of the way you are treating him, no.” Harry could care less about the predatory ways he circled them, hissing as if to scare their prey.

The man was implying a sort of relationship that Scabier strongly objected to and while Harry could care less whether they made him messiah or worm- he would not be a tool to ridicule another.

The lively bar slunk to whispers and mutters.

Rosa loomed over him (Harry hated how easy it was), curling his longer body over him- and the shadow cast a foreboding stance.

“How Curious. So defensive of your pet?”

Well- The man threw away all subtleties now, didn’t he?

Harry twisted his mouth unhappily, looking up at the man that hovered above him.

“You are just doing it intentionally now.” Baseless provocations-

Harry tsked again.

Rosa, the Vampire snapped his mouth open- in unpleasant surprise or delight, he couldn't know.

"What a smart little boy. Your papa must be mighty proud."

Harry opened his mouth even more unhappy, but apparently, Scabier had had enough of the facade going on in front of him and chose to put an end to it by dragging Harry behind him.

The older man blocked his line of sight with his larger body, “That is enough, Rosalind. You have no matters with the boy.”

Never mind. The man chose to join the drama.

The voices erupted.

_Behind him._

_In front of him._

_Above him._

They were surrounded.

A deep voice sauntered in, and the way Scabier and Rosa both stood up straight unconsciously had Harry attentive too.

“Doesn’t he?”The man whispered, “Isn’t he the one who managed to leash you, Scabier?”

The matter of a mob was that they needed but a single voice to act. And so, what was previously murmurs happening as the bar patrons stayed seated, what was previously looks of contempt from afar evolved to this.

Now that the jungle king had claimed them decisively as prey, the hyenas circled delightedly. They reached out their claws, hoping for a shred or two.

The crows came closer to peck.

“What did he promise you? A life free of Azkaban?”

What Harry didn’t understand was why?

Why such an – in his opinion- overreaction over him?

Why the entire bar seemed up with arms and claws over a wizard child and a vampire?

“But you won’t feed them any codswallop about us, would ya now laddie?”

Scabier snarled at the old man who had simpered their way in there. “Hahah. I never thought Scabier would be turn out to be a licker.”

There was an immediate rise in the noise following that remark. Harry looked at one blond tosser, a scrawny sort of guy, who slunk in the periphery- plenty chuffed after he had dripped blood in the uneasy water.

“And I never thought you could be so tired off your tongue, Charles.”

Charles, the tosser, did seem intimidated when Scabier took a step towards him. But the grinning Rosalind promptly took back control from him- sliding in between them.

“Why don’t we ask your little master, then?”

..

.

.

“Wait.”

“Where is that wizard?”

"Here," Harry answered from his tea and pair of roasted bread.

Harry munched and finished the dry toast in his mouth before answering.

(He had been starving, okay?)

“The service is excellent. Although the ambience could be better.”

And it was. The host had not made a pip when Harry had ordered- but calmly slid them on the table. The furniture was neat, nothing dusty about it. Harry was not particularly vain, but it had not been long since he had started wearing such expensive clothes.

His peace was destroyed when Rosa smacked a hand on him. Harry managed to save his butterbeer in time, but the table had a huge crack in the middle now.

Harry sighed. He had hoped to at least get a bit more nibbles on his bread.

“You are not even going to be the one repairing it.”

It was not the vampire that responded to his deliberate tone though.

It was the scraggly sort of man who had calmly stood watching them instead of snarling and sneering like Rosalind. The man who kept smiling at him with dark eyes.

The man who had Rosa and Scabier alert at the same time.

-t-m-r-

“He is not gonna be paying for it either," Lotte spoke – drawing attention to his figure as he walked closer to the pair.

_The werewolf._

_And the wizard._

All midget of one- soft-looking cheeks he could **crush between his thumb and forefinger**.

Then Brodric had to clean a whole lotta more mashed wizard from the floor.

His eyes flashed with cruelty.

The boy continued looking at him as if his fingers were not itching already and replied, "If you can't take up your responsibility, of course, I don't mind taking care of it."

The leech smiled down- fangs out and nails drawn- but the boy didn't flinch then either.

Lotte looked up from the hand on the boy’s shoulder to the mard of a wolf.

Scabier met his gaze evenly.

Is it because of him, the boy felt filled with courage as he stood amid creatures' lair?

“Is it so?” He whispered, out of place with the vampire who was snarling gory threats at the boy all this time.

The **disaster of a vampire** , not enough venom in those fangs to even kill a little mouse- all that thing could do was bare them and hope the others ran.

It was on the promise of Scabier’s fangs that the boy dares stand so stiff.

The next few moments, happened very fast.

The rest of the meats jumped away from the sudden flurry of activity.

Scabier hastily pulled the boy behind him as a burly body rushed towards him.

And Lotte snatched that very hand- that was steadfast in protecting a wizard- to break it clean...

Scabier **howled**.

Lotten snorted.

The wolf recovered fast- smashing forward with his broken arm turned away and the good shoulder jutting forward.

Lotte went with the momentum to fall against a set of chairs.

He didn't let himself be dazed at all.

The wolf was crafty and swift.

Scabier was not weak and it wasn’t his first brawl either.

This could go on for hours- and Lotte wasn’t sure of his win either.

He could have waited to let it slip to Greyback for discipline.

That was if he intended to keep it fair.

Lotte jerked his eye forward and kept Scabier busy with chokeholds and hard punches to the ribs.

Charles picked up the broken piece of chair.

And when it happened; Lotte kept his eyes on the boy, gleeful.

Scabier howled and the smell of blood rushed through the air.

The blood-sucker kept the boy in place, painted long nails digging in the shoulder.

Every predator stirred at the smell of blood calling them.

The boy would be in the middle of a wolf massacre- should he choose it so.

And now he had finally the chance to subdue Scabier- the one with far too much dominance in the Alley-

But with this one mistake- all his power was tainted.

 _Hah_ \- he could _thank_ the boy-

The boy with a pretty fine dress and pale face.

Drawn lips and wide-eyes.

The boy-

The boy would make a fine sacrifice-

But he should carve out those plucky eyes first.

“Are you still feeling brave, boy?”

He was high on his win. Charles and his men were holding down Scabier’s limb and the boy –

.

.

It was perplexing-

Lotte tilted his head even as his hand pressed down the wooden dagger on Scabier’s back- why hadn’t the boy still flinched away?

Collapsed pathetically to the ground?

Why was it still staring at him with blue fire glinting in those eyes?

He _didn’t like it_.

Lotte pressed down harder when Scabier started struggling a tad.

The wolf grunted.

“Look around boy. No one will help you out. Look here. Your hero is mewling-but still alive, see? If you want to live, get on your knees.”

The boy didn’t look around.

He didn’t even look at Scabier.

The boy was still.

The crystal blue bore down on him without flinching.

“Why did you do that?” The boy was quieter than the whole evening. But the pub was still as a stupefied mess and he sounded as clear as a bell-tower.

Lotte smiled and opened-

"Why, hm? Still, hating the wizards, the ministry but not enough guts in you to take them, right? Like a coward you hide from those who could wipe you out and like a coward you would show yourself only before a boy and one single werewolf- only when the odds are very much in your favour. Even then, you had to rely on others, didn't you?"

Lotte stared at those eyes, crystal pure which had seemed as clear and tranquil autumn-

Where shadows merged now, darkening them slowly.

 ~~Why couldn’t he look away~~ -

The closer the boy came, the more sinister those shadows grew.

He was looking down at the boy, but it didn’t seem to matter.

The eyes seemed unnaturally bright, at the same **_so dark_** _,_ pulling him in inch by inch,

"You think you hate witches and wizards. You hate _every_ species, including your own, Lotte Lawrence Peters- even though you became a wolf just so you could borrow some of that strength you saw in others...

But do you know what I see? Fear, endless fear because in your heart you know what you are-“

~~The voice was coming from inside him-~~

Small hands took hold of his loosening fist-

_And the voice dipped low, as if intimate-_

“So much fear.”

And the sweet voice coaxed out the days of misery-

**You can't look at the others.**

**You can’t look away-**

**They can crush you-**

**And not even remember your name-**

**Just a pest crawling around-**

**You won’t be missed-**

“Not even becoming a werewolf changed that.”

The touch left him, and the darkness shifted its attention.

And Lotte gasped to take in all the breath he had lost.

-t-m-r

The pub was eerily quiet, except for the lone werewolf gasping and sobbing.

Scabier grunted when the broken piece was removed from his back.

His head was down, sweaty dark hair limiting his vision.

Soft hands tried helping up. Despite the atmosphere, Scabier gave an amused exhale.

As if the boy could ever lift a full-grown werewolf.

He didn’t resist and let himself be directed to a seat,

Soft hands groped around his back, “Y **ou** will be **fine**. Your **wounds** are **already** healing. It was neither from a **werewolf** cl **aw** or a c **urs** e. There is not **hin** g to be conce **rne** d a **bou** t.

It **wil** l be go **n** e by **th** e time anyone b **roug** ht a pain-r **elief** too.”

The boy hovered a while before moving away.

The pub had not bothered to breathe any louder,

Because-

That

terrible feeling-

“W **izard**? **Vamp** ire? L **eashe** s? the min **istry**? D **on’** t make **me laugh**.” There was a soft snort at the end.

Nothing- nothing took away the goose- bumps those words brought- with that suffocating-

(Can you give me a glass of milk please?)

“ **If the** wizard w **alkin** g in **here had been powerful** and **strong- you** would be **lining up to serve** him.”

-that terrible pressure..

.

.

And that unexplainable fear

The boy’s voice modulated in pitch as he walked back and forth. He was in front of the bar now- still holding on to the blood-stained piece of wood.

Scabier focused on the blood drops and the agony on his back and bones- to shift away from the fear.

To be able to breathe through his mouth-

And not choke-

-He still couldn’t meet the boy’s eyes.

“ **I do understan** d the **concept of po** wer, you know. **The powerful rise and weak stagnate.** ”

The boy was holding up the crudely made dagger as he spoke- offering up to the audience.

“ ** _I don’t care much for it_**.” He whispered.

They all heard it loud to their soul.

It reverberated inside their pores.

And that pressure bearing down his mind, and soul-

-suddenly spiked.

The wood started blackening- no.

Dying.

_Shrivelling as if all the moisture was sucked out of it._

_As if it had run promptly out of all the time that it had_.

And they all felt it-

That dark magic that danced over that piece, fragile wisps really- alternating between transparency and vibrant green.

There was nothing left save-

Absolute terror.

Digging deeper-

Their ears were ringing. Even though it was absolutely quiet.

Their bodies were being crushed- even though they seemed perfectly fine.

Forced to bend before that-

Scabier held on to his stomach, holding to the urge to heave as if he could throw all that crippling fear out, and watched as the boy walked to Charles.

For the first time in his life, he felt empathy with that snivelling creature who was now trembling under the table.

For the first time maybe, Charles’ sly tongue failed him.

The boy’s hand was still wreathed in vibrant green- cheerful and pretty in a way it shouldn’t be.

‘He was going to do something stupid.’

But Scabier couldn’t move, much less get up. He couldn’t breathe past the cloying feeling **that** **Magic** bought.

Each and every pore of him wanted him to run-

_Far_

_Far away_.

From this—this-!

"I don't care much **for back** -sta **bbers either**." He crouched down and Charles snivelled but was frozen in the spot- was frozen until the hand swirling in that magic crept closer and tenderly held the wrist.

"I **w** ill **leave you a l** ittle re **minder**."

Charles shrieked as soon as the magic touched him. Scabier could see four delicate marks around the hairy wrist.

What was- what was this thin-

**_He was a boy._ **

A foolish... foolish boy who was trying his best not to faint on a chair.

Scabier shoved down his terror with his first staggering stride and rushed forward.

The boy’s cheeks were bloodless and too cool to touch.

Scabier frowned.

“You need to go now.”

He thought the boy would protest, but he simply nodded.

The frown-lines crinkled deeper, as Scabier carefully patted around the boy to see if he had missed anything.

“Mippy.”

A particularly ugly house-elf popped in, and Scabier stepped away.

But for some inexplicable, perhaps ridiculous reason, the boy then looked at him expectantly.

The hopeful look further mutated into a pout the longer Scabier took to respond.

“Scabier?”

The man sighed- he understood already, “I am not going.”

The boy hissed in annoyance, “Are you an idiot? You can’t stay here.”

The longer they took, the faster the pub patrons would shake off whatever was holding them still. He should send the boy off already.

That said, the man bristled at the boy's look of patronizing annoyance.

“Are _you_ an idiot?! You can’t just invite me home. I am a werewolf.” This spelling out the root cause was getting too troublesome.

"So you have said repeatedly. Just because I look thirteen doesn't mean you get to be so condescending!" Of course, the boy would cross his arms and be precocious.

“I wouldn’t if you stop to think about what it means!”

The boy uncrossed to raise a flimsy fist-

To do what?

Punch?

Thump on his head?

Shake like a five-year?

~~(It was the same hand that had dark magic holding it a few moments ago.)~~

Scabier held his fist tight.

And lowered it.

“I have to stay.”

The boy pursed his lips again-

A small face that rarely was expressive, not like normal children-

Scabier read the concern in the clear eyes just fine, though.

“I have to stay.”

Because he would be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity when all the predators were downed. To run and hide at this moment would be the single most blunder of his life.

He was not so kind as to let it be.

“But-“

Scabier ruffled the boy’s hair- soft and too fragile.

“It will be alright.” He was already getting excited- for what he was planning on next, “But you should go now.” And the boy must not show any weakness, _not now_.

-t-m-r-

Mippy had been aghast when she found his master had been starving for so long. just confirmed that he could not take care of himself in that school.

Harry ignored her mumbling.

And let himself be swallowed in the fantastical magical thing- his bed.

If he had a time-turner and he could go back a couple of hours earlier- he would give a nice sock to the ear to the over-confident, strutting past-self of his.

When had Harry Potter been truly vulnerable?

It had been a long- long-long time.

Certainly as Harry Potter, the necromancer, the apprentice to his Lord Death – he had never been. And as the boy-who-lived, well, the adult Harry Potter did not like to remember those embarrassing days as a child, thank you very much.

The stubbornness and mulishness- of being a Gryffindor had stayed though.

He supposed it was the same stubbornness that made him- him as Adrien Silvan now, Adrien Silvan with underdeveloped limbs and infantile strength and rebellious magic- think he could stride the belly of Knockturn Alley sans any consequences.

And as usual, he remained oblivious until the truth bled out to get its attention-

Until one of his own got hurt.

That stubborn pride of his- not knowing when to accept his defeat.. to recognize when to retreat...

That stubbornness had been very vexing to his friends. During, the wartimes the same stubbornness had carried him forward.

Of course, it was the same stubbornness that refused to let him show his weakness when he had been overwhelmed already.

Harry sighed and turned over to his back. The light stung his already throbbing head.

Harry didn’t call for Mippy for a potion- only put an arm over his eyes to shield himself.

He had come very, very close to toppling over.

To draw his necromantic magic like that- when his body was as strong as baby's arm and just as prone to breaking down-

That had been reckless.

He didn’t regret it though.

He didn’t regret a single ounce of it.

Behind the arm in the dark, his eyes burned with the remnant of fury.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo! We have the beginning of action here! Did my pace seem fast *worried worried. The story was always going to be a sort of action oriented- not rapid but well- the plot will be driven by happenings- sooo..   
> It was fun writing Harry- it is such a struggle writing the amalgam of mature mind and childish heart with a proud soul- I had hoped to add more explanation- but I didn't want to stress you out with too many words fellas. Every action of Harry has some backstory- *looks through drafts to confirm.. And it will be explained along the way. I am trying not to dump the plot on you. And so..darling ones, you gotta have a little patience for all the explanations. Discussions are always welcome and if you think if you have any problem- feel free to ask.  
> I know the story might induce some anxieties when we are comfortable with OCness- for me though, I want my hero not to cry and snivel when his power is drained out.  
> He will be the sort that- ' eh? My sword broke? Imma gonna punch you to death!' - sorry, too gryffindor. I knew when I started it- this story was a bit off the beaten path, and might not draw as much as audience--*draw in all the courage from my hero  
> Too long notes.. oops.   
> Please give kudos if you like.  
> And comments! They are the salt of my life! Life is bland without them! Thank you for being with me, everyone!


	10. Interlude- A day in a house elf's life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author- "How is it working under a baby necromancer, miss Mippy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude- without which ironically the story didn't feel as continuous. ^w^ Enjoy the short stuff and please read the A/N

Mippy adored her Master, she had adored him ever since the first time she had seen him.

Master had been very dull and silent then.

-exhausted from his sickness- the old master and mistress had **said** so.

The master had given her no troubles. He would rise for meals and ablutions, blinking past her -never saying anything.

The old master and mistress always looked so sadly at their son. They would sit by his bedside, coax him into opening his mouth and feed him from vials.

The young master never said anything.

He never did anything.

He would wake up when he needed to and then close his eyes.

Mippy had not long been by them, but she looked at the miserable family, looked at the blank-eyed child, and clasped her hands together in desperate hope.

The old master and mistress didn't stay much at home. Every once and then they would come back bright-eyed and rush to their son.

Mippy would stand quietly in the corner as they chanted spells and sometimes brought other people with them.

Each time it happened, their shoulders would bend deeper.

Then one day-

The old master and mistress took away the young master and made her promise that she would look after him properly.

Just like she had been doing. Her mistress had taught her.

The young master woke up.

But the old master and mistress were not by his side anymore. They never returned.

The young master did not ask after them either. It made the little house elf feel something in her chest. She would have thought about it more, had she had any more time to spare.

Because all the time her young master didn't spend in bed because of his sickness- he left it running around and getting more sick!

He never listened to her when she asked him to mind his health and drink his potions.

He brought in all sorts of things that Mippy couldn't think what to do with!

She remembered how obedient her young master had been before and sometimes would have terrible... terrible thoughts.

She would slap her cheeks in punishment whenever those horrible things came to her mind. Mippy didn't dare do more because her young master had strictly denied her any sort of self-punishment.

It was all very confusing for her.

Anyway- those thoughts never lasted for long, not when she remembered those blank- white pupils on her master.

Still!

Mippy had never been so helpless on her job before and so overworked.

Her master would tell her not to work so hard-

Then why must he make everything so difficult for her?!

He went and roamed without taking her with him- and came back all shaking, pale-eyed.

He brought back strange animals and asked her to care for them!

He asked for strange foods that she had never heard of!

Mippy would flail around- because … because… she didn't know what to do with this.

Her old master and mistress had made her position clear.

To keep her young master neat and tidy.

To wake him up at certain times and feed him potions.

The only thing he was to eat was warm, simple rice porridge with the ingredients that Mistress had shown her in the kitchen.

What was she to do when he asked for something more?!

Mippy had been a proper house-elf before, not to be seen, not to be heard unless called.

But her master would only hum if reminded to eat or drink water.

He would stagger if he stayed bent for a long time.

Since the day he woke up, he never stopped running.

Mippy had spent a long time waiting in the corners, waiting for his call.

For him to command.

He never did.

When he did ask for something- she was useless in it.

But this was not it either.

He would go to **_that_** place, and come back all terrible- stinking of something that made her flinch away,

She didn't understand why she felt terrified every time her master left for **_that_** place.

(Sometimes it reminded her of the time of her birth- sometimes it reminded her of when her brother died at her mothers' feet.)

And he always came back happy. **_Terrible_** and happy.

But that place had taken away the old master and mistress –the young master...

She had wrung her hands and tugged her master's hands.

But he never listened.

He would run around- always looking, always searching for something.

_But he never looked for the old master and mistress._

Her master wouldn't even go to their room-.

He never went anywhere except for his own and the main hall.

The rest of the rooms were left to dust.

Mippy felt terrible as the Manor was getting more and more uncared.

He brought cauldrons and tried strange things.

It never ended well.

Sometimes it simply smoked

Sometimes it eroded the floor.

One time all of them had been knocked out- even the goats at the back.

Mippy had been very, very distressed about it.

His master had missed one day's worth of potions!

Her master promised to be more careful.

But the only thing he did was keep her away whenever he wanted to do those strange things.

Then one day, Master said he would get her more help.

Mippy had been ecstatic.

_And guilty_.

She indeed was not enough to do everything.

But her master brought back her brothers- from that **_terrible place._**

**_And they had stunk… reeked of terrible things..._ **

**_~~reminded her of things she didn't want to know…~~ _ **

**_~~didn't want to see~~ _ ** ~~~~

Her master had only patted her head and told them all to get along.

Mippy- the humble and polite- had never been so vexed with her master.

But she endured.

She no longer hid in the corners.

She no longer waited for her master to come to his senses.

She was not at all polite as she dragged her master to proper meals and feeding his potions.

She had been afraid of how improper she was acting- but her young master never rejected her, never punished her. He didn't even as she had destroyed his precious papers.

And then her master said he was going away.

He said he was going to school to study-but Mippy knew, it was a lie.

Her master didn't need them at all. The books that had been brought for the school had all been stuffed away.

The only books that made her master happy had come in a post- carried by eight owls- it had been a bug package.

Her master had unwrapped it so carefully.

He had warned very strictly her not to touch them.

She wouldn't have- they had all felt soaked in that **_same wrongness_**.

So she knew master didn't care at all for that school

But he would be leaving all the same.

She was worried about the him-her young master who had made her yell once- or twice because he was so troublesome sometimes.

Mippy was worried if the master would eat properly.

If he would remember his potions.

If he would remember to rest and rest well.

Master said he was leaving, but he was not preparing himself either.

Instead, he would pour himself in his books or his strange explosions.

He would sit in the room and look over parchment and mumble.

He would look away to that place where her brethren were buried.

She kept thinking as she folded the softest and warmest clothes for her master.

She didn't know much of this place- but she knew there were many of her sisters and brothers in there.

.

.

And what she had kept ignoring for so long came back to her.

She was not a good elf for her master was she?

She had only known to feed him warm food and the potions- as her old master and mistress had instructed.

But after the young master had woken up, he had needed _more_.

He had asked her- but she had been helpless. She had begged for punishment, but Master had only turned away.

That.. had hurt more than the punishments would have.

He had brought those two of her- brothers,

She remembered they had not flinched away from the young master. They- they had been very good really.

They had cleaned the house properly and hadn't damaged anything.

They had taken care of the animals and had not been afraid of their hoofs and horns.

They had not made her master to make his food.

She had been **afraid** of them…

But at the same time a terrible, heavy thing had sat on her chest.

Only now she understood it.

The sweater in her hand was getting wetter.

Ohh—

She had damaged her young master's sweater now too.

Mippy was good for nothing.

Her nose was getting choked and the sweater was _ruined_ now.

But…

_Her young master had even cajoled and coaxed those other elves._ He had been very sad to bury them.

She hadn't had a hug like that!

She was getting greedy- when she couldn't be as good to deserve her young master as the other elves.

_No wonder he was leaving._

An ugly sound broke out of her in that empty room.

It felt very cold just then-

Before it got warmer.

A small hand patted her head softly.

"You silly thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake:  
> Harry- My little elf is so cute. You are getting upset because you will miss me, aren't you? *pat pat  
> Mippy- No. That's not it, master!  
> Harry- So... you won't miss me?  
> Mippy- ... QAQ (I disappointed master again!)
> 
> First of all, my dear, sweet readers and commenters! Thank you ever so much for being awesome! Specially lunapotter2- you are so good to me! :* I normally don't do shout-outs- but.. I hope I didn't put you on the spot! but you are too good!  
> This my dears is the interlude and barring an asteroid striking the earth, the chapter 10 will be uploaded in the weekend. Would have been in the week itself- but I am a tiny bit sick and I will be running to and fro because stupid social obligations- gah.   
> There will be occasional interludes in the story- when I put some Death& Harry interactions (No spoilers)- that is a nibble for you to look forward to!   
> So! We will see each other again. soon.


	11. Return to an old home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is excited to start a life of homeworks? Not Harry. But we have a surprise for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo.. an asteroid didn't strike the earth-- but you lot will forgive me for not keeping my promise, won't you? uwu Thanks for waiting and don't forget to give your love,sweet ones! Enjoy the chapter

Mippy laid down the tunics, trousers, and shoes. She had not added heavy fur-laden ones because her Master was coming back before the winter would set in. As it was, the robes were dusted with angora fur and keep Master warm from autumn wind.

She had already put in the school books and the non-descript black robe and hat in the school trunk- which languished in a corner like the unworthy beings they were.

In the hallway, her Master was tracking down the list- murmuring as he went.

 _There was the ash_ \- to get a freshly harvested body from the village downhill was more difficult than he had thought, so down went another goat. (Don’t ask the proud boy of the bitter, bitter regretful tears he had shed over the pitiful vial of ash.)

 _The self-made notes from the Peverell parchments_ \- the true manuscripts would be kept safely back in the vault.

And the list went on.

The inhabitants of the Silvan manor prepared for Hogwarts- each unaware that their stack of preparation wildly varied, occupied by their priorities.

 _Speaking of things to do_ \- Harry looked at the letter he had written and trashed several times. Frustrated, he jotted the final script carelessly before shoving it at Mippy.

“Give it a few more days before sending it. The wards will need to settle.”

Darned sentimentality.

\--

The Hogwarts train was a tradition that even returning seventh years never denied- bar a very time-sensitive issue. It carried for them that bit of nostalgia- when they all had been wide-eyed first years and the red, steaming train had ferried them to their beginning of a new life.

Harry didn’t ride the train. He didn’t go through the 9 and 3 quarter platform.

The first years oohed and aahed so happily at the grand entrance of the Hogwarts into their life- swaying as they did in their boats on the old lake. They craned their necks and twisted their heads- all to see the sprawling sight of a structure more ancient than their ancestors. In the night, it was the lights streaming from inside that laid out the grand castle.

Harry didn’t ride the boats. But well- he was not the first year- so that had been expected really.

The older students merrily returned on thestral-driven carriages. Most thought the carriages magically drawn though- after all the Thestrals can only be seen by those who have seen Death with their eyes.

Harry didn’t ride the carriage either.

Instead here was the unfortunate him- preceding the sorting, he was dragged before the entire Hogwarts staff- who stared at him all the confusion and disbelief.

(Sometimes he felt as if by taking the hand of Death he had renounced the wretched amount of fate's favour he might have...Harry gave that some serious thought before he remembered the life he had already led before.)

Of course, he already had the first and lovely impression of Hogwarts in another life- but no one else knew that!

For what reason would they want to deprive a child of the introduction to such a majestic persona of magic? Whatever this farce that needed to be held- couldn’t it have been done before?

Much before?

Because clearly- Dumbledore had not even cared to intimate his colleagues with the news of a new student- not a wide-eyed, fresh-hearted eleven-year-old that is.

Not that news wouldn't be that much striking really- apart from the deputy headmistress no one else should be involved in the greet and tell.

“Hadrien here needs a delicate touch with his magic.”

_But well- he was a peculiar case, wasn't he?_

Most of them were familiar to him- there was the sharp, hawk-eyed Minerva Mcgonagall who had been his transfiguration professor and his head of the house. The diminutive person with curling mustache and monocles had been his charms professor- a very competent professor despite his seemingly carefree persona.

The witch with drooping hat and plump sort of smile was Professor Sprouts of course- the herbology professor. At the end of the table, he could also see the overlarge spectacles that made the divination professor Sybil Trelawny look like a dazed owl and the polite interest of professor Sinatra- the astronomy professor and Babbling- the runes professor.

Harry faintly remembered the Arithmancy professor that Hermione had pointed out him- a stern-looking woman.

Potions Professor Slughorn was sitting two seats down the left of the headmaster and had smiled indulgently at him. ( Harry could already see that interest fleeing far Egypt when the news of his magic was said finally.)

Harry traced his eyes over the flying instructor, mentally counting down.

So the remaining somewhat unknown people must be the Muggle Studies, defense against dark arts professor and care of magical creatures.

Harry stood there, meek and obedient like, behind the seat of the headmaster, his curious eyes roving around and settling on the differences between what he had known and what it was now.

“I don’t understand, Albus, What exactly do you mean by delicate touch?” McGonagall looked at him curiously, and Harry swept his eyes to others.

He had thought Slughorn and Dumbledore had surprised him with their youthful (somewhat?) looks- but even professor Hooch(???) was shining- no wrinkles and the cheeks perky!

“I am sorry, he is what?!”

Harry felt like giggling.

Of them all though, his eyes kept coming back to Slughorn. He had met Horace Slughorn squatting in a muggle house- the glory and fame all past- when the second war had starting to catch on flames. The man's cheeks were gaunt and pathetic looking really- bravado covering up the fear.

The man wanted to live in eternal glory- sometimes lost himself in it only to be reminded of his shameful situation.

The man then had looked nothing like the fattened sheep Harry had seen in the photographs.

“Dumbledore, have you lost your mind?!”

Here now, up so close and free from his previous rushed times, Harry could fully appreciate the gold buttons and the purple vest that the seamstress had fit for him- all on the verge of over-indulgence.

“This is the institution for the finest- we don’t take any riff-raffs- we might as well enroll flich here!”

The Charms professor was sitting up primly- looking serious in contrast to the excitable person he had seen so often.

Their eyes met- Harry smiled at the one in the memory.

Professor Flitwick did not smile back.

Harry slowly came back from his nostalgic excitement.

That was right- they did not matter to him and he did not matter to them. Harry felt a sort of affection towards the one who had been once the versions of these people- the sort of familiarity that made one nod when passing by in the street.

Maybe the polite inquiry for a while more- but then their paths would diverge again.

That had been the extent to the relationship with his teachers- when the excitement of the war was past and the world settled,

“Very well then, I will let young Hadrien speak for himself,’

And just like that, Harry was somewhat thrust in front of the assembly of eh professors- to speak for...

Beg pardon, what was it exactly?

Ah.

He was wrong. All these times he had been happily reminiscing- and maybe a little bit hoping for at least amicable relationship again- the keep the dignity of his memory intact if nothing else- somehow, he had missed them turning hostile?

If it had been the young boy truly who had appeared in front of them- lacking in worldly experiences, only ever knowing the comfort of home and warmth- Adrien might have burst into tears already.

Harry made an inquiring sound towards the headmaster- quite some eyes sharpened at the disrespectful gesture.

“My boy, they want to hear from you-your desire to study here in Hogwarts.”

Harry was not particularly as eager as Dumbledore implied- _but_

“I thought this was an institution of learning- every witch and wizard who wanted to learn magic go here- I didn’t know the decision was in the hands of the professors?”

Harry saw one nod in agreement in the corner of his eye- but most frowned and that heavy-set person scowled.

Merlin cork it- he was not a fawning dolt when people wanted to antagonize him. If they wanted a doormat- they could buy one that would not bite them.

Even Hagrid’s old textbook had a spine.

Professor McGonagall looked at him disapprovingly, no doubt at his snarky tone, snarky words, and snarky everything really, “Professor Dumbledore brought your issue before us to let us known that you have to be excused for some of the lessons.”

Harry nodded to the headmaster in thanks.

The Scottish woman frowned even more, "But you can't be excused like that- Mr. Silvan. Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense against the dark arts are the core subjects. How do you expect to progress without doing the practical exams of it every year?”

The man beside him snorted, “Don’t be too subtle now Minerva,” He sneered down, “This is a place for wizards, boy. Not squibs.”

Another professor piped down from down below, somewhat kindly to his credit, “You can’t be here- if you can’t even hold a wand, boy. That is not-

The man gestured to her colleagues helplessly.

Before coming here, Harry had not been quite so enthusiastic about this idea.

It was more or less the only route if he did not want to die from boredom and proper food- and well- there had been some incentives.

Nothing so fantastic as to limber up his excitement.

but he had prepared for the stay here already. He had dreamt of the beautiful castle that had been home for such a long time.

_And well. It was a matter of pride._

He could, of course, argue for most of the cases. He did know about the exams and the classes- and he could argue that some worst-performing students passed by either because of their marks in theories or practicals. He had known the two lumps called Crabbe and Goyles whose only talent had been riding the coattails of another and- ok, they were fine with dark curses as well.

Reckon, they just needed proper incentives.

He could go on about every loophole he had seen and exploited and go on a permanent line drawn between his professors and him.

He was sure, however, that Dumbledore had already thought of ways.

There was no need to waste energy in this kind of show- the professor was probably waiting around for.

And so he smiled and calmed down and put the man back in the spell range- "I am sure the professor has already thought of ways to help me. It is not like I can guide my professors in their job. I can only say - I am not a squib. I mean, I know a squib can't access their magic at all. I can though- and if you would properly protect yourself from any backlash- I can show you." Harry smiled at them, "Don't worry, I can bear with it for some time. I just- I hope I don't damage anything." He said most worriedly.

Dumbledore intercepted him, “That is alright, my boy, you need not do something that would hurt you.”

Harry shuffled a bit- undaunted now that once he had started, “I thought Headmaster and Professor Slughorn had seen- my body is a bit weak for spells and such. I have to get by potions. Now that I am alone with just my elf-“ Harry shrugged, unrepentant of the shamed looks that were darkening the others’ cheeks. “I didn’t mean to be so much trouble.

Professor Sprouts was the first to blurt out, “Oh dearie! Of course not! A child can’t very well take care of himself in such a situation- I am sure Horace and Poppy would take perfectly good care for you.”

Professor Slughorn latched on to the tag he was handed, "Of course, dear boy! I had no idea you were in such a vulnerable state." He glanced at the headmaster inquisitively.

The rest of the professors were either nodding in agreement or hunkered as the majority shifted to sympathy.

Dumbledore looked at him calmly, with a smile playing on his lips.

“well then. You were troubled over nothing, Mr. Silvan. Go on to my office and help yourself. I will be by soon. It is time for the sorting to start.”

Harry made sure he was out of the room before letting his grateful smile slip.

+--xoxo---

“That was very clever of you.”

Harry looked up at the non-smiling face of the headmaster and snorted. "You put me in a spot. What did you expect me to do, snivel, and beg?"

The man took a seat behind the table. Harry looked back at the poking thing. They were so many fascinating things here in the office- Harry was cautious not to touch anything.

He preferred his limbs and mind whole.

The portraits reprimanding him for the last half an hour scrambled to complain to the present headmaster.

“Never have I seen such a disrespectful child.”

“A ruffian dressed up like a noble.”

“Where did you pick him up, Albus?”

“Why is the better question.”

"The audacity of young scoundrels- why, in my days, discipline meant no children strayed from proper behavior."

Harry looked up at the portraits of old and young headmasters- clad in progressively worse fashion and did not at all feel respectful.

“And yet, you don’t have the sense not to barge in when two people are talking.”

A moment of shocked silence passed before the furor went up.

Both of them ignored the raucous fellows. Harry turned to his headmaster- still bitter about being put on the spot before.

“Weren’t you also the one who begged me- holding on my sleeve and crying in the Fortescue's. Did you forget so soon?”

Harry spluttered.

“That- that was a moment of weakness!”

 _Dumbledore_ was a moment of weakness. As he always had been. Harry could not care less that he would be hated by the rest of the professors- judged and rejected.

He had not cared enough not to put forward a façade of Adrien Silvan.

It was Dumbledore despite whose cruel machination and those stupid manipulations- Harry just couldn't shut out like the rest of them.

Couldn’t stop his honest and unhurried response.

Harry scowled at this annoyance.

“For a twelve-year-old, you are an articulate one, aren’t you, Hadrien?”

Harry sniffed and winced promptly. _Well_.

“Just Harry, please,”

Dumbledore smiled, breaking his previously somber face. Harry looked at him suspiciously- at the abrupt mood changes of his professor.

\--xoxo---

Harry had not expected the nostalgic memories to overwhelm him so.

Hadn't the face of his old professor and headmaster had already once affected him to abandon rational action? He had then let his emotions shadowed over the truth of his aim. No matter that the flimsy efforts of a twelve-year-old would have been naught if the headmaster Dumbledore had been determined enough in the intriguing boy who had stared him with sadness borne from great familiarity.

His eyes had betrayed him. Only if he were controlled enough not to show the length of his longing-

only if the unguarded mind of a young boy had not divulged him so-

If only-

He would not have had to guard against the attention of the most powerful figure in the current era.

In this instance, he could not regret his minute slips anymore. Not when Hogwarts in all its magnificence surrounded him thus.

It was not only an old man- once dearly beloved- once...

Before Harry knew his worth as the prophecy child to the public...

His worth to the old man as the herald to end of war- only if the Queen called Harry Potter was sacrificed at the proper time.

A taste of life. A taste of false love.

Before his path was delicately pointed out.

The King needed to be saved.

Harry had forgiven the man. He had not considered his own life to weigh more than the dark fate of the Wizarding world. But he would never forget the betrayal. Beautiful in its subtlety.

But he had adored Hogwarts. He had adored the stone walls that shielded its children, the solemn structure occasionally indulging in the whims of children. He had loved the strength it had shown in the battle of Hogwarts, at the care it had shown for the afraid seeking sanctuary.

It had been generous to all, good or bad, so unlike the human heart that would falter one way or the other.

Now Standing in the great hall of Hogwarts under the light of thousand candles floating above him, the voice of countless children resonating around him, the sweet scent of magic perforating the air and Hogwarts welcoming him with nary a hesitation, Harry couldn’t help but stagger with the onslaught of memories.

He gathered himself before he had to grab onto the wall for support. Through great restraint, he walked as his name was called and ignoring the inquisitive eyes upon him put on the hat.

“How **_curious_**.”

Harry jolted at the musing inside his head.

"Mr. Silvan. Adrien Silvan, you are called. Yet you don't quite identify yourself by such."

Harry couldn’t help but feel a shard of unease. He didn’t quite know the abilities of the Sorting Hat, and _he had never thought he would find it to be a liability._

But the Hat laughed. "You would if I were curious. However even sentient objects, as I am, are not capable of curiosity. I merely observe, based on which I will decide where you belong.”

_Observe what exactly?_

“I observe the traits that make a person's identity. In a way, you could say I see into your soul, ironical considering I don't have one myself."

_For one who claims to only see, you speak in a contrary manner._

"I might be able to emulate human speech, but that is all I am capable of in human emotions. I am loyal to Hogwarts, to its students. Be at ease, dear child, and let me look at you. Your emotions are blinding."

“Hmm.. very well defined mind. But rather chaotic. You are loyal to your cause. You have the courage and bravery to do what must be done. But in the end, these characters are only a way for you to achieve your goal. You belong in SLYTHERIN!"

Somewhat startled at the abrupt announcement, Harry shrugged nonetheless and took off the Hat nonchalantly(he could care less about the dramatics of a house-sorting). Before he could have taken a single step, however, a loud scoff waylaid his attention.

Harry turned to the table with the most boisterous students.

The new student who had been passive so far crumbled finely now and the innocent blue of Hadrien Silvan stood out as his gaze fixated upon a group of confident Gryffindors looking his way.

“Really?”

The scoff had been undoubtedly for the new Slytherin in their midst- for _him_. Those dark eyes were boring down at him openly.

But Harry could not think about that. He hadn’t _thought_ , hadn’t _wondered at all_ about the importance of the Time in which he belonged.

He hadn’t cared at all **_when_** he was.

And whether he would see anyone he knew- it hadn't entered his mind at all.

Foolish really- when the appearances of young Slughorn and Dumbledore should have warned him already.

Blinded by his self-absorbed thoughts as he was- he could never have predicted this.

Because there was the wild hair of the Potter Heir as a hand ruffled it even further. He could see the features that had reminded many of his father, that had dominated in the face of Harry Potter. And to the side…

 **Oh**.

He had not thought about Sirius for a long time now. He never could really, preoccupied as he had been in fighting for his right in the vulture world of Magical Britain. The dull ache flared sometimes- whenever he had had to recognize his responsibility as the Black Heir. But he had more or less accepted the hollow feeling as a part of his life.

But that throbbing had been dull, if at all there- as opposed to this sudden onset of emotions that escaped his mouth in a gasp. The sharp grey eyes that had a moment before resented the sorting of a Slytherin could only watch with suspicion as the boy stepped falteringly towards the Gryffindor table.

The headmaster laid a restraining hand on the fragile-looking boy, but the blue eyes never escaped his own.

“This way, Mr. Silvan.”

Some of the Gryffindors chuckled, the marauders among them watching most mockingly.

“Don’t think we need to worry about the brains in this one, eh?”

“Did we ever have to?”

Peter laughed as James spoke thoughtfully.

Sirius would have continued on that note had it not been for the way Silvan had turned once again for a last glance.

But the headmaster was already herding the lost lamb away. Sirius watched the retreating back of the tiny thing before losing his interest.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore led the stiff body down to the house of silver and green. Slytherins had embraced a slightly bemused air- which, was expected indeed.

After all, it was the house of pride and pretentiousness- how could they accept being buffed in such a way? It _had_ to be a bruise to the Slytherins after all the welcoming applause they had put on for the new Slytherin.

It was unfortunate that such a display would target the poor boy so soon, bar a reassuring pat Albus Dumbledore returned to the dais and announced the serving of dinner. The boy would endure; Horace might be a little pompous, nonetheless, he genuinely cared for those under his care.

The sorting had been interesting, but the dinner was waiting.

Harry didn’t even notice the stares of his neighbors as he blindly settled into an empty seat. Too dazed in his stunned disbelief, in the thoughts that his parents were alive and so near. No more an abstract notion, but of living flesh. Giddy warmth swam in his heart, which coagulated into loving anguish when he thought of Sirius.

Sirius, who had not been abstract after all, Sirius who he had lost in such utter foolishness. Sirius, the only person he had ever loved so unconditionally. The only person who had accepted him without nary a question.

Sirius- who had been no more than a wreath from haunting nightmares- no more a scarred reflection for even in that half a glance, Harry saw the brilliant grey eyes had flared with a passion of life.

The little slip of the boy drifted through the rest of his housemates. Professor Slughorn looked frowning at the subdued boy who looked so diminished as opposed to the last time.

Maybe- the final toll of his parents' death had rung on his head. Hogwarts had declared the impossibility of a return to that life now.

He let the boy to his renewed mourning.

\---

Dazed and confused, Harry completely ignored the headmaster’s welcoming words to the new students. He woke up slightly at the polite applause that thundered past his churning thoughts. His eyes had focused by the time the dinner had appeared on top of the golden plates- even if his soul had departed his poor body to go pine away somewhere else.

The first years close to him inhaled sharply when the plates had filled suddenly (as if by magic!). The older students smirked at the wonder of these children- conveniently forgetting that they had been just as naive in their times.

That particular phenomenon had never ceased to amaze Harry either- but right now, he was far too occupied to do more than numbly reach for his fork and knife.

“Adrien Silvan. Wasn’t it?” Came a voice from the bench across the table.

That name sounded familiar to him. But Harry was more concerned that Dumbledore had set him down on a bench facing the wall opposite the Gryffindor table.

 _He could not turn around to stare at his par-_ at _them._

Even he had more tact than that.

Mindlessly, he cut down the toast and lathered up the butter.

And besides, he wasn’t that fraught at this- this unexpected incident.

_It was all completely fine!_

He paid undue focus to the dessert- indulging in as much as sweet as he could. He had a sudden craving.

The Slytherins waited a bit more before realizing that their newest housemate was stubbornly ignoring them. And the few drags of patient goodwill that they had had- vanished.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still confounded when I see my hit to kudos ratio. Is it really so bad? Aaa- well, at least I have my faithful reader to seek solace in. I try not to look at my stats.. but ..


	12. First day in Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry thinks a day of normal student will start from now. If there was ever such a day- it certainly isn't today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year my dear ones! Let no sin of the past hold us back- clear our hearts and move forward! A little late wish- but thank you for being with me so far and I hope I will have you for the days to come. xoxoxooxoxoxo All my best wishes for you all!!

The Slytherin Prefect went through the remainder of her duties once more and found herself in a miss-step.

"Eh? Where is the new third year?"

The first years had been fed, watered, and herded to their den. The Slytherin common room was livelier now. They would all retire soon- friends had clasped each other on the train and on the way to the castle. They were warm and comfortable- any more socialization had to aimless.

Bar the prefects.

No matter their tiredness or the urge for the perfect comfort of their beds, they must allocate the first years, reconvene with their head of the house, reset the passwords to their entrance, and other pointless tasks.

She couldn't have lost a housemate- a new one, and the prefect's responsibility on the first day, now could she?!

She hurriedly asked her classmates if any of them had seen the wayward boy.

"No worries, Ji-Su. I took the liberty." Ru Ji-Su, fifth year and freshly made prefect, turned at the voice and hastily nodded to the dark-haired boy. He was younger than her, even if he was not as the prefect Ji-Su should have higher authority- or so the ignorant would assume.

"That was kind of you, Jugson."

Yeremiah Jugson, Fifth-year Slytherin, tilted his head to indicate the seat offered to her. The prefect didn't refuse- did not speak of the duties yet to be done.

The fourth-year took his seat and smiled at the wary prefect, "Wasn't it just? I meant to welcome him into Slytherin, but...hm.." He tsked regretfully, "He didn't seem to care for it."

The Slytherins surrounding him frowned at that. The first, second, and third impressions had been far from favourable.

Already, some faces had twisted in irritation.

"He did not seem very enthusiastic in joining Slytherin."

"Mayhap, he had been hoping for another house."

"His disappointment was _very_ obvious in the sorting."

Jugson very kindly let those around him express their distress at the new student rejecting their friendly overture.

The prefect frowned deeply.

"Do you think we should tell _them_..."

The dark-haired boy interfered before the other could complete the sentence- it was very obvious to him to whom the prefect was referring to- and shook his head.

"For such a trivial thing- you want to admit defeat already? It has not even been a day." Jugson chuckled.

The girl sat back at the implicit reprimand and didn't put forward any suggestions. This timidity was precisely why even as a fifth-year prefect she would never be a challenge for Jugson's position.

The boy hid a satisfied smile.

His little group furtively looked towards the cluster around the fire-place. (Each and every Slytherin was seduced by power after all.)

But Jugson didn't bother turning. One day he would be sitting in the coveted seats as well. For the ambitious, envy was a puerile emotion.

"Silvan is one of us now; we wouldn't want our honour to suffer because of him." Jugson steered his peers gently. The rest nodded earnestly.

Despite his light words, Jugson had very seriously thought through the situation.

(For the inquiries that would be mild in delivery, not so in nuances.

He would not let even the slightest carelessness taint his future.)

Granted, he had been a tad hasty when he had approached the boy. Thankfully no one had noticed how casually Silvan had brushed him off.

Jugson was not keen on repeating the humiliation. So he turned to the third year who had been silent so far and smiled at the stiffening face.

"Tend to him well, will you? Don't let our house be shamed."

Yeremiah Jugson would remember that humiliation though. It would be rude otherwise.

\--

The day of labour and the evening of excitement had the young body crashing down in the bed the instant it felt the softness.

And respite of a good night- while it could not bring him absolute peace- it soothed away the immediate jaggedness of the restless mind.

Harry woke up lightly muddled, the unease from last evening fuzzier now.

When the curtain parted, he could hear soft murmurs and rustles.

Ah.

Well, he supposed he was not living alone anymore after all.

He had not thought about this much.

Getting into Hogwarts...He had thought about only the immediate concerns that interested him.

The richness of Hogwarts library.

Also- the bountiful of divine cuisine prepared by Hogwarts elves.

(Harry did not think of his loneliness at all. Had not he been acquainted with the feeling for a long time now?)

The last he had been in a dormitory – was when he had been in another house when he had been in Gryffindor.

Being in Slytherin dorm was eerily familiar and yet not,

A Gryffindor dormitory was an explosion of red and gold. The colour scheme could have been garish but was instead made cheerful and bold.

Salazar Slytherin, on the other hand, favoured silver and green. He went for a declaration of nobility and succeeded too. Harry was not sure if the trim of gloom was a part of the decor as well - or was it his being a Gryffindor now that had the comparison appear more depressing?

At any rate, Harry had long adjusted ton live in Grimmauld's place- a haven for Dark wizards, teeming with cursed items and nasty creatures as it was,

The dark of Slytherin's dorms did him better than cheerful yellow or any red tones.

(was it because he was an adult that he was more accepting?

.

.

Nah. Ron would have screamed and cursed the place no matter whether he was twenty or eighty,

Also, his insistence that the place was made to raise dark wizards and witches would have gotten another Lumos in favour.

His distracted was brought back to the dorm by the sound of a slamming door.

Harry had retired early that night. He had not met his dorm mates or had not even thought about them- hair-pulling anxious as he had been about the small issues that had propped up like poisonous mushrooms.

In the morning light, he weighed the politeness of it and the fruitlessness of it.

He was contemplating still as he bypassed his dorm-mates and headed for the empty bath. Two pairs of eyes followed his back.

The bathroom was still steaming when he entered and promptly felt blinded.

Harry was thankful for the foggy the full-length mirror.

While letting the water flush away the rest of his drowsiness- Harry contemplated the mad storm his mind had endured. Sleep had calmed him down, but he was not sure if he was taken out of tempest entirely or was in the eye of it.

His parents. Sirius.

The thoughts that had been chaotic and vicious enough to shower new lacerations were not so passionate today.

But the questions remained.

_What were his parents doing here?_

_Were they even his parents_

_Did not his Lord say that they had circumvented time?_

_Did that mean he was in the past? Or at a different time?_

_But timelines were not to be manipulated- not if everything were to remain perfectly fine as they were._

_Was he one of the instruments that could twist the time?_

Harry paused.

Ah. In frantic despair, he forgot -

He was Harry Potter no more and would not cause a major catastrophe by his very existence.

Then...

_Could he approach them without risking the future?_

_Should he try risking the future?_

"Hullo."

Harry stopped drying his hair and looked back at the boy talking to him. There was nothing memorable about him, and he knew if he stopped seeing him for a week, the boy would fade entirely away from his memory.

He attempted a half-smile, "Hullo".

.

_It was not as if he did not know the existence of other worlds, other life. He did!_

"You were in bed by the time we returned."

Harry hummed at the soft accusation, "I was more tired than I expected."

_It was not as if he did not know the complexities of time and space- well, actually he did not._

The other boy, who had been squatting by the trunk, spoke up quietly, "But we didn't get to introduce ourselves."

Well- this boy was a bit more pleasant to hear. Harry smiled, "Very true. I am Hadrien Silvan. It is nice to meet you."

The first boy crossed his hands and narrowed his gaze, "Silvan? Haven't heard of a Silvan house before. Have you, Benjamin?"

Harry's mind drifted again-

.

_And as his Lord had told him not to think too hard on it in human terms, lest his mind spontaneously combusts- the ever-curious Harry had not nagged him too much._

_._

The boy- Benjamin- fiddled with a robe before pulling it out of the trunk. He didn't look at Harry as he answered.

"Not really- I can ask others."

"Why? We can ask Silvan here."

Harry had long turned back to getting dressed up.

_The necromancer who had entered the school with the haughty idea- the entire world was his to play with- was no more than a ball of confusion and whys, hows right now._

At least his face did not mirror his inner turmoil _._

"Well. Silvan?" The boy stood in front of him now.

Harry let his flustered thoughts pause in their dramatic re-enactment of panic of last night.

Harry turned half a gaze on him-the rest focused on getting into his pants, "Who are the esteemed people who want to know?"

Both boys flushed, one from anger and another from embarrassment. The quieter boy was the one to take up the mantle of conversation, "I am Benjamin Mason, third son of the Mason family. And this here is Eddy Troch, first son of the Trochs."

Harry hid a smile at the way Troch's chest puffed up a little.

"Thank you kindly for the kind welcome." After all, these two were in the dorms- the other two beds still had curtains drawn. "I will see you at breakfast."

Troch frowned a little. "Wait. You weren't there for the introduction last night."

There was one? Harry had aimed straight for the dorms-

The boy looked smug at Harry's realization, "Well, you should have waited for Jugson. He couldn't be bothered for you now- and he entrusted me with the task to welcome you to Slytherin."

"And what a warm welcome it has been."

The boy preened. "Yes, thank you. Now, "The boy turned serious and Harry looked appropriately apprehensive, "You are, uh... the loyalty to Slytherins is... Mason, you do it."

In the hierarchy of power, even something as useless as a flobberworm will have parasites.

Harry couldn't immediately figure out which one was the worm and which one was the parasite.

(Was he even interested?)

Mason sat up on his bed from where he was slumping like a rejected bag of, "Uhm. Jugson says the Loyalty to Slytherin comes before the loyalty to Hogwarts. Each Slytherin must uphold the pride and honour of being in the house. The in-house matters will be handled in-house before being brought to the head. And uh... your action will carry consequences if you are not careful."

Word-for-word.

The boy slumped back after having recited the stone-engraved words of their house.

"You didn't tell these to the first years last night, did you? They will run right back home if their welcoming includes threats of consequences."

Troch sneered, "Then they are too weak to be in here, aren't they?"

Mason looked to Troch and back at him, "No-o. This- this is only meant for you."

Harry quirked his brows and put a hand on his mouth, "A very warm welcome indeed. Thank him on my behalf if you will. I dare not impose on his time."

Troch seemed undecided between being confused and puffing out his chest in pride, but Harry had already left the dorm.

A single snort at the ridiculous situation that just happened and Harry had already forgotten the comedy.

Instead, he started to reclaim the peace of his mind – letting it into the trance with the recitation for the invocation ritual running through his mind.

\----

The prefects handed out the time-table. Harry waited his turn.

A frowning boy with the gleaming badge handed him a parchment instead.

"The headmaster wants to see you, Silvan."

The conversation around him thrummed and attenuated immediately. Faces turned towards him furtively, lifted with subtle curiosity,

"Already? This will be the fastest expulsion in Hogwarts History."

"Eddie!"

"If you can think of any other reason for him to be summoned before even the beginning of first-class, Ben-

Harry nodded back to the prefect, but didn't obey immediately as propriety judged.

There was still dessert to come and Harry hadn't had a nice pie for ages now.

Where Harry had all his attention on the golden, gleaming plates in front of him, the rest of the Slytherins could not adapt themselves with his wilfulness.

"You won't be leaving?"

"You have to be brave enough to keep the headmaster waiting like that."

"Could be that he is just that close—" came a murmur.

There was a pause, where the speculators eagerly waited for him- dissected the expression of the young boy to see if there was any credibility to be lent to their 'whispered' gossip.

Whether the boy would blush in affirmation or cry in condemnation. At any rate, the information would be extracted this way.

Harry bit into his ham in leisure.

A thousand eyes turned away in bitter disappointment and ramped on the malice in their words- all better to provoke this prey.

_Stupid thing should be completed earlier. Godric, this should have been done before he had bought the books._

_Although_ now that he thought about it _\- it was Dumbledore who had pushed the books into his basket- so maybe, he wouldn't have too much trouble_?

Harry finished his breakfast but lingered awhile on the table- blue eyes trailing over the various desserts lined up before him.

_He was full._

_But..._

After careful consideration, Harry wrapped another piece of the pie in a napkin and got up amid his violently flustered housemates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So-- I have a question. You guys might have noticed this chapter is a tad small? The original chapter was too long and I chose to break it up for better readability. Also the plot tends to run away from me and I thought shorter release will stress me out less. Seriously this is the third draft of the chapter. :'((  
> What I wanna know is which way is better for you folks?  
> I am working on one more story too.. which- really, the reason is my character personality tends to change per the mood I am in? And one Harry can't be noble one moment, naive the next, a little shit another moment. I mean he can--but it will take make him a Gary Stu kind of. Ehhh--  
> (Trying so hard not to let my characters bleed into one another, ugh.)  
> The point I am trying to make is the story is never at the risk of being abandoned. Ever. If there was ever a doubt of my readers--  
> Thank you for reading and please leave kudos and reviews


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world seen through eyes of an adult isn't pretty.   
> Harry is brought to the headmaster's office because everyone felt like beating a dead horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Notes at the below!

"The professors have their own lives, you know. These two months is a fair bit of vacation for them." Dumbledore smiled at him when he voiced his not-complaint.

_Oh._

Harry rubbed the back of his head, "I am sorry. Didn't quite think of that."

Professor McGonagall raised her brows at the headmaster, "I would have come back from Ayr earlier if this were the case. Leaving only you and Aurora in charge of this term –"

Dumbledore waved his hand, "We handled the first years well. And in young Hadrien's case- we would have had to have this meeting anyway. It is not only the transfiguration class that is a concern.

McGonagall opened her mouth briefly before closing it.

What she meant was that she would have had him refrain from this charitable impulse.

But this was a matter of spilled potion. It couldn't be returned to the Cauldron. Once entered into the Book of Names and Sorted, Hogwarts would not turn away a student without sufficient reason.

Harry sat down in the chair that the headmaster offered- right beside him. The teacher's mezzanine was deserted bar the four of them- Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and the DADA professor.

Harry looked around in question. "How come other professors are not here?"

McGonagall looked at him from the top of her glasses, no warmth in her eyes, "The term has already started. We cannot ignore all the students for the sake of one."

She looked over the boy once- the tie was knotted uptight, the shirt was buttoned and tucked in, the robe was fastened in the front and the shoes were laced.

The boy knew to keep himself decent at the minimum.

Flitwick smiled wanly at him, "We have our classes too- but well, this matter has to be dealt with anyway."

McGonagall humphed, "This is the first time I will be late to my class."

Dumbledore soothed the irate professor, "Your students will forgive you." He turned to Harry," The other professors will take to you by themselves. Only these three core classes are most concerned about you."

Harry wasn't very sold on the idea of concern.

Especially when the DADA professor sneered at him every time their eyes met.

"Charms is a practical class." Flitwick started. "As are DADA and transfiguration. The writing assignments make up for a minority of the final score.

Even then lowest performer in my class can wave their wand. This wand movement, the proper spell for the charm, the proper pronunciation, the nuance of the spell aligning properly with the movement, the speed of their charm- make up half of the score, The rest is of course based on the result. Did the charm work? Did it work correctly? Or did it mutate?

Take for the spell Aguamenti for example."

Flitwick made raised his wand in a swish before giving a harsh flick.

Water poured from the wand into the goblet Dumbledore had conjured just in time. ('Thank you, Albus.' 'Just minding my papers, Filius.')

"Do you see how my wand moved? If it goes too high or too low-"Flitwick demonstrated exactly that, a sprinkle of water was hastily counted mid-air by the headmaster. "If I say A-gua-Menti instead of AG-ua- menti." A jet of frozen air flew out. "Or if confuse my swish with the flick".

Dumbledore held the wrist of Professor Flitwick from doing any more demonstration. ('Quite enough, my dear fellow.')

The score for the spellwork is dependant on many things. But you must have a wand, Mr. Silvan."

Harry understood the displeased faces.

This matter was not solved simply by spinning a tale of vulnerability and swaying the professors (not that they had any say over the admissions)

True, Harry had thought that an institution that can admit lumps like Crabbe, Goyle shouldn't boast of high standards.

Besides that, he remembered Neville with his father's old wand and Ron with his second-hand wand. When had been performance been a top priority for the professors? When had they tried going beyond the role of impersonal educators?

The admission into Hogwarts was simply based on whether they had magic or not. The Book of Students will not be Quilled falsely and no person could be admitted if they didn't have magic.

As such, the professors had little ways to counter really.

Still, the fact remained that he was unable to do conventional magic- and they had to accommodate him.

_He was an inconvenience and they weren't quite happy with him._

His hands fisted on his lap, shifting away from the bite in his heart.

 _But they must have a solution; or rather_ Dumbledore _must have one._

And look, the man was grinning gleefully.

Harry looked at the crooked nose and wondered how many times the man had just been as insufferable and gotten his just reward.

In the past, the man had died- before which, Harry's worship had been too high to contemplate violence.

In this life- he had been regressed to a child. He had to wait- before a punch wouldn't land him with a detention scrubbing toilets or the bird dropping in the owlery.

Harry felt his mood lighten at the visual of the crooked nose getting even more crooked.

Whether Dumbledore read his bloody future in the mind or not- he didn't wait for a prompt, "Yes, yes. I have already considered that. Mr. Silvan can't sit on the classes if he couldn't practice." The professors nodded and Harry's heart tightened.

"Which is why I have brought him a dead wand!"

The DADA professor snorted.

"And what, we will give him an A for effort?

Don't forget. The scores for the wand movement are added only when there is some sort of result. What do we normally grade to students who can't charm or manage a spell? Ha! If this is how Hogwarts will go, soon you will start handing wands to muggles and applaud when they can wave it."

"Finnick!"

There was a beat of silence. Harry watched the faces of his professors.

Perhaps it was the remnant of nostalgia- that rent him a piece of disappointment.

This moment of silence- because none of them were thinking any different.

Harry looked down at his hands.

_This was unfair. Being surrounded like this- and being looked down upon-_

The silent judgement was already bearing down on him. As if forcing him to acknowledge that he was less-

This sort of blubber passing for words- generally pissed Harry to no end.

He couldn't understand why his nose was starting to ache now a little too.

"I understand the professor's concern. But isn't it too much to equate me to the magicless? The reason I was accepted into Hogwarts was that I had magic. It was not the headmaster who -,"

Harry rubbed down the creases on his knees, "The muggles won't get their names written down in the Book of Names. The muggles can't get the sorting Hat to work for them. Even the Headmaster can't change what the Founders willed. I am magical- whether you accept it or not. Of course, it is a different matter if the professor would rather not have me in their class- then I can only accept it."

_Less bother for him anyway._

"No."

All of those professors were startled at the emphatic reaction of Albus Dumbledore.

"I was hoping that as the guide and professor of the young generations, you will be more attuned to sympathy." Dumbledore looked disappointedly at McGonagall and Flitwick. He didn't seem to expect much from the DADA professor.

"Ollivander said your magic should settle down by your first majority." Harry nodded and did not point out that the keyword was ' _should'_. "You can't use your practical lessons now, but you must not forego your fundamentals. After your majority, you may reappear for your owls."

"I can?" Harry had not cared one way or another about his academic qualifications in this life... Not all jobs need Es and Os for tor the core subjects, after all.

"Of course. You only need the signature of the headmaster." The man winked.

Harry stared at the twinkling eyes,

He did not care for how many OWLs and NEWTs he got, the old man argued on his behalf anyway,

Harry did not know if he liked it or not.

But there was a warm glow in his chest- suffocating him, erasing that ache before.

Harry kept his hands clenched on his lap. _Urged himself to keep seated._

And nodded, "Thank you, headmaster.

"There is your time table. I took the liberty of filling it."

Harry looked down at the filled slots, "I didn't think I had that many options."

Albus Dumbledore smiled a bit thinly, "You have more options than you think."

\----x--++

Dumbledore had said, his first day would be excused. More for the sake of the professors who needed the adjustment than him. Harry didn't turn to his dormitory upon being dismissed.

He turned the corner heading for the staircase that would bring him to the second floor.

Harry didn't unfold the charmed piece of parchment on which his time-table had been drawn. What he needed was a bit of silence without pests buzzing about him now.

Madam Pince frowned at him: after all, no student flocked to the library on the first day of classes resumed. Her sharp eyes looked at him up and down- debating whether or not this was a runaway student.

However, which sort of delinquent would dump a class only to head to the library?

Her glasses slid down the nose in much distress at the dilemma represented- but the librarian did not detain him any longer.

The sheer size of the library always overwhelmed him. It made students gape in awe and scholars whoop in joy.

The scholars' joy would compound as time passed but the students' awe stayed until the first assignment was demanded.

And then they would only bemoan the sheer size and curse at the stingy librarian.

Madam Pince favoured her precious books more than she ever would care for the students who spent their time giggling or leaving chocolate stains on the books or folding the ancient books and tearing the precious pages.

The students would be thankful for the padded carpet that saved their feet from being worn out as they strode up and down the gigantic mess for a reference or two. The carpet also served as a temporary resting place when no other seat was available and their tiredness made it seem so very inviting.

Madam Pince might scoff at their unwillingness to labour for the book they wanted. But the students' exasperation was not ungrounded.

There was no set catalogue system. For each subject taught at Hogwarts, there were no less than 10 sections or so- arranged by not alphabets, but their ranging difficulty.

Not counting the formal magical studies, the sections for the advanced studies, legal study, management, Home management, and other niche areas of knowledge that were not formally taught in Hogwarts also had their place.

Should one wish to find a book not explicitly related to their textbooks or their reference- well, they would have had to rifle through millions of books and transverse through hundreds of rows.

No wonder the students praised the founders for blessing the soft red carpet on the harsh stone.

Harry walked through the aisles slowly, fond memories of his past coalescing together on the dust mote and fading away at the next moment.

Each moment of whispers, arguing over the books, getting chased by Madam Pince, meeting a suspicious character (for the year), stalking that same character for that year's adventure, ruining a book because Ron could not keep his candies in the bag, getting thrown out by Madam Pince...

Whimsically he roamed through the reference section before grabbing a Hogwarts History and a lone armchair.

The nostalgia had fled fast in the face of a worry that kept his face wrinkled.

The tome perched on his lap as a prop. His robe was draped over the back of the chair. The tie was loosened from its stranglehold as he had been roaming in the library.

He scowled as he looked out at the Dark Forest.

Harry was not paying attention to the forest nor the book.

Instead, he was mulling over the meeting from before.

Now that he had settled down a little, in a mindless blurred with sweet nostalgia- cold logic unwrapped the tangled thoughts carefully and mocked his previously sentimental self.

He truly didn't care for alms. He never cared to beg- and he never did. Not for his life, not for help. Not from his family, not from his friends.

No matter how much they insisted. No matter how much they were exasperated. Asking brought something sour to his chest. If there was something he wanted- it was his to pursue.

It was his friends and others who offered instead- who vowed to keep company no matter what storm or hail came. And Harry had been only everlasting gratitude for them.

If he didn't care for something though, he would be thankful for the assistance- but it would be worth naught more than a pittance to him.

The headmaster could not have known. He could not think that a thirteen-year-old would not care for his future and the corresponding academic results.

He could have never known that his priorities differed from Adrien Silvan- a thirteen-year-old orphan's priority,

What would have the gestures meant for that boy? Surely warranting effusive gratefulness.

The boy would not have been indebted for life- but indebted nonetheless.

The rest of the world would have turned villains to his happiness in life. Hadn't they opposed his stay in Hogwarts? Only this person had looked at him past his ... disabilities.

How attached the by would be?

The other professors- by their ignorance or bias- all had been set up as antagonists to this drama.

Of course, this was hardly as horrendous a play as he was making it out to be-the professors had merely disapproved, there were a hundred and one ways to make this difficult for him apart from personal bias.

It was nothing so horrendous as setting up a grand game, assigning the roles of villains and saviours.

But he couldn't deny that subtle nuanced play either.

An efficient manipulator need not be big or devastating. Their thoughts need not imply something too tremulous for the fate of the world.

Dumbledore had been best at the slight nudges, and most of all he had been very good at timing.

He knew when to let the other players create drama. He knew when to choose silence.

And when to step forward.

This way, even when you realize your mis-step, your fondness for the man won't waver much. After all, it had all been for the good of him (was it?)

The protests and thankfulness would have their lines blurred.

This way, they will become his willing pawns and knights.

Harry should know this.

He had suffered through the greatest of betrayals of all- didn't he still feel warmth and love for that man?

'Tch.'

He pushed the book back into his shelf and meandered deeper inside the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing is sometimes I like to put in hints and subtleties rather than outright telling the readers. But I get worried too that anyone might miss it- sooo... did you guys see where the adult Harry and chibi Harry were having a bit of clash?  
> The chapter too short? too detailed? Only one scene was spent reading? Let's beat up the writer?  
> Don't ! Just tell me and from the next time I won't chop up the chapters!  
> This is a long fic btw. And slow build. We have OC's in here. even in the canon not many characters are introduced save the marauders. The Slytherin canonical characters are too or they have already are in too higher years/ already graduated!  
> I don't want to info dump on you people about the characters I will be introducing. Some will be canon fodders, some will be actually important. Some will appear in only one scene or two. We will take a slow walk through the years- get to know each everyone better. so that by the time LV appears you guys will be attached enough not to throw Harry's friends to the snake.  
> That's it for now. I am always available for discussion and analysis. See you in the next chapter!! Don't forget the reviews and the kudos!!


	14. The Art of Deluding Thyself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a bratty Harry- Who will do everything possible to reject the author's world.

In the middle of the second week, Harry felt he had settled into somewhat of a routine. Breakfasts were always the most sombre affair as the living dead crawled out of their beds, moaning and cursing. The younger they were- sicker their pallor. Slytherins comported themselves far better than the other houses. At least none of them wore waffles for hats like some of those Gryffindors.

Mondays were the most miserable and entertaining times for breakfasts.

And the quietest for Harry. He had taken to early rising – it boded well for everyone’s peace.

Especially his.

There were troubling days as well- when the buzzing was the loudest and Harry had to pause between each mouthful of food.

He would have preferred to have foregone this unnecessary task of breathing -

But it was rude to answer with food spitting out of his mouth.

_“Your family- they are one of us, aren’t they?”_

_“Nobody could be like you!” titters._

_“Riff-raffs get in sometimes- it is not our fault.”_

_“Of course not. So, Silvan- it is fine if you have a dark history or two." Giggles._

_“He is one of us. Right, Silvan?”_

_Harry would nod along, “Sure.”_

Some day people would be rather thoughtful.

_“I don’t remember the name Silvan in Wizarding families- though.”_

_“It is not like you can know all of them. Come now."_

_“Silvan did say he was-_

_“He wouldn’t just lie –_

_“Of course not. Right, Silvan?”_

_Harry would take up the solemn contemplation, “Who knows?”_

Another time the discussion would be more lively. With thumping hands providing background tunes-

_“There is a half-blood there too- right down the end of the table. Just a step up from the filths. How do we know you don't belong right there?"_

_It was very impolite to point a used spoon towards another, so Harry would only nod towards them to show his sincerity, “You make a very valid point.”_

After the breakfast, he would stroll down to the library-

To work on his assignments.

It had been the bitterest day when he realized he had to be Hermione-sque, at least in a couple of subjects. That he couldn't just use the school as an inn.

He had spent that day hands on the waist scowling at the cordoned off restricted section.

Men make plans for Gods to laugh.

If Gods _did_ exist, men’s arrogance must be a constant stream of entertainment for them.

Well- his Lord wouldn’t make laugh at him really- even the grossest of blunders had been forgiven with a sigh.

And this was merely an oversight.

A vexatious oversight.

How smugly had he thought to coast by the Hogwarts years with minimum effort?

It was not that he wanted to spend the adolescent years by commemorating the indulgent life of Ronald Weasley or even the flippant manners of Fred and George Weasley. The former used his brilliant strategic mind to dismantle chess pieces and shorten assignment times.

-which might range from drawing wide margins on the parchment-

Or make the hand-writing as large as possible-

Insert as many spaces as needed (or not) in between words –

Lines –

Paragraphs –

Cram in adjectives such as beautiful, incredible, …-ble to describe potion ingredients –

Describe the classroom experience of a new spell that went –whoosh! And –wham! –

His personal experience of when the mandrake bit his fingers, the number of fingers, and how long he bled – (Ron had explained to the unimpressed Herbology professor Pomona Sprouts that he was contributing to the research society, he should be commended – his logic was solid too, Harry had thought)

Ron made an art out of manipulating submission rules and forcing the professors to amend them repeatedly.

Snape had finally been done with the assignment rules as –

"Mr. Weasley. I don't want a ten-inch essay from you. I want a two hundred words parchment- however long that is- one that could be expected from a textbook, not a gossip rag. For your clarification, that means no irrelevant adjectives, no repetition of context, no digression, no active voice. And. No. Exception.” The scowling man of the dungeon had leaned in and whispered, “If you fail, there will be no detention. You will redo it again. Again. And Again. And thanks to your efforts, Mr. Weasley- the new standard of assignment submission is valid for everyone now. We wouldn’t want to make it unfair, would we?”

Harry had nothing to say about the words Ron had spat out in anger right at Snape’s face and his consequences.

He came out alive anyway.

And then the red-head had enjoyed a brief era of infamy.

Harry had no intention to rouse the professors into that familiar time of sharp vigilance.

He didn’t need to.

While he did not care for the several inch long assignments for nine different subjects and spending hours slaving away for them, hours running around the library for them-

He had already done it once before. His recall might not be eloquent, but maintaining an average score would not be a hardship.

He needn’t have a D+ graded paper to wipe his mouth after breakfast. It will be A+ at least.

But, which professors would then grant a library pass for him to enter the restricted section?

No, one – that was who.

Harry rubbed at his right-hand ring finger in distress.

He groaned at the thought of his blissful- life of necromantic study flying away on the nimbus 2000 and crashing tight onto the Whomping Willow.

And had let his dejected body slump down onto the fluffy carpet.

At least, it was good that he caught himself at the beginning of the year?

“What are you doing?”

Harry had leapt to his feet, shaking off his hands and feet- looking very suspicious indeed.

Madam Pince was there- glaring down his monocle, looking over the wide blue eyes and slight frame.

She wasn’t at all softened.

Irma Pince had never seen this boy in the library before- so had he been obedient until now?

“Are you brewing trouble here, boy?” She looked at the restricted section and felt her misgivings increase- many roused their courage after their initial years. The teenage hormones spread their wings and made them more infuriating.

“I am not! I am definitely- I was just sitting here!" The boy was wiping off his hands on his pants; Madam Pince’s sharp eyes tracked it over with prejudice.

There were no food crumbs. Or chocolate stickiness.

Or ink marks.

The boy didn’t seem to be carrying anything or hiding anything either. Only dishevelled with the sleeves scrunched up.

“Likely story. I do hope I do not catch you trespass here, boy. But if I do- that will be the greatest of your blessing.” Her glasses glinted as she leaned forward, “Do you know why?”

He shook his head, face pale at her hissing words.

“Then you would have survived.”

It was not only the boy who retreated apprehensively but also the one who accompanied her. She nodded with satisfaction.

“There are books in there that could make you sleep forever. Or make you speak in rhythm till you die. Or take your eyes, heart, ears, liver, stomach- even your soul. Do you understand?”

Both of them nodded.

Good.

"I understand, Madam. I won't be careless-"

“Yes, they are all priceless books. Any damage and you will pay until your last. I don’t care if your soul is gone, as long as the book is intact!”

The boys fell silent in understanding.

It had once so happened that a book swallowed someone’s bones apparently and then disappeared!

The matron at the medical wing had refused her to visit the troublemaker even!

She snorted once more and let the boy accompanying her inside the restricted section. Was it necessary for a second-year boy to have a pass this early on academic year?

She looked over the boy judgmentally.

Ah, A Ravenclaw.

Harry stared at the librarian and the other boy.

What did she mean to say- they would pay till the last of their years or last of their breath?!

That boy - he looked far too young. Yet he was clamouring for the library at the start of the term?

Even Hermione hadn’t gotten a restricted pass in the first month in any of the years!

Ravenclaws had to be lunatics of sorts.

(Why did that Ravenclaw seem a tad familiar to him?)

And he had to be one of them as well- if he wanted to get into forbidden necromancy books before the Samhain.

So until then, what was he running off to do in the library? Besides the assignments, that is.

He had found a treasure in the poetry section.

A set of an amateur attempt to rhyme that was extolling the virtue of his Lord!

There were plenty of poems in the name of Death- invoking morbid thoughts, tales of lost loved ones, and so on.

He had never seen such hopeless, shameless affliction where the author worshipped Death as if wooing a lady’s favour.

Harry had muffled his snickers into his robes throughout that day.

\--x--

Harry had to take all the core classes, no exception. For the electives, he had taken (note- Dumbledore) Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

Well. It was not as if Harry had any other option.

Divination was trash- taught by a fraud of a woman. Even for an easy O- Harry had no intention of accompanying that woman in her hobby of inhaling strange fumes. Or squint through watering eyes at tea dregs, glass balls, anyone's palms, feet, or foreheads.

Muggle study was not even an option to be considered in either of his lives- he had enough of them in the short span of life he had spent among the mundane.

Dumbledore had shaken his great white beard at the Care of Magical creatures- apparently, it carried undefined risk. Harry had shrugged- he didn't hold great thirst for that subject.

He was mostly left alone at the core classes- the professors chose to ignore the odd creature sitting at the back.

Mostly. The DADA professor liked to show his favouritism to Harry empathetically.

“Look carefully, Silvan. Ducking and running are your only choices. You should know- which ones you can duck, which one you can’t.”

“If in doubt- just take it. It won’t make any difference to anyone.”

“Are you watching, boy?!”

The man was very, very concerned with his education. Harry appreciated the passion, but feared this kind of focused preference will cause others to lose heart.

He hoped that the others were impartial and that everyone should be equally ignored.

Potions class was an oddity as usual. Harry had thought the professor Horace Slughorn would treat him like a clay pot- considering he had no use to him- what with the minor issue of being 'as good as a squib' and all.

But apparently, the man had been won over by his honeyed words at the first class.

Harry had much debated over whether it was something he wanted or not-

The potions classroom was in the dark and damp corridor he was used to. The warm welcome of “Come on in.” – not quite.

Never mind that Horace Slughorn had taught the last two years of his Hogwarts life. The smarting tone of

Severus Snape fit the dungeons more.

The rotund man had nodded at him familiarly, Harry replied with a closed-lip smile.

His partner of the class had looked quiet- whose gaze every so often skittered back to him.

"You joined Hogwarts quite late, un?"

Professor Slughorn boomed from the front of the class, “ Well. Let us see how many of you haven’t left your potions lessons back at your home! We will be making a burn salve today. Whoever fails will be demoted back to second-year potions class!" He laughed boisterously at the horror-stricken face of his students.

“Can he do that?” His classmate whispered to him. The next moment, she remembered this person was a new student and couldn’t possibly...

"He wouldn't," Harry said confidently.

“Un?”

“The professor is too gentle.” And naive.

The man was flamboyant in words and action. But at heart- well, he could be gentle at best and weak at worst- depending on the person speaking.

Th

is was the man who gave away the secrets of darkest arts to a teen Voldemort for a jar of crystallized pine-apples and equally crystallized sweet words. The upshot of which had led to a Dark Lord's road to immortality.

In all honesty, the rise of Voldemort was a foregone conclusion. Even so, whoever divulged Secrets of Darkest Arts so comfortably to a boy barely in his magical maturity?! – Slowly boiled frog in the honeyed water or not.

This was the man who returned to Hogwarts on Dumbledore’s and Harry’s transparent play of nostalgia- knowing very well that proximity to these two would only increase the Dark Lord’s ire.

Cunning and Ambitious- with a touch of greed.

Also foolish and brave- this head of the house of his.

"Just for that, you will be getting an assignment on the first day. Can’t be having my reputation run like that!”

The voice sounded awfully close to him.

Bother. The man had overheard them.

The class groaned out loud. The ones who hadn’t figured out the reason for this torture were helped out by the others.

Harry didn’t note the sudden increase in the room’s temperature and the sharp stabs in his direction.

He was looking at the professor’s red ear lobes.

His own face turned down. It was a good thing that this face didn't blush too easily- otherwise, he would be embarrassed from that alone.

Or, it just might be the lack of blood in general too.

Professor Slughorn cleared his throat and addressed him, “Silvan. I want your hand in the stirring rod each time, alright?”

Harry understood the pointed look. The professor wanted to make sure he could do potions.

While a squib was capable of making potions, Harry was thankful in a way that the professor wasn’t making any presumption.

Well. It could stand to reason that potion-making was a volatile process after all. The professor dared not be brave.

The professor looked at him and thought him indecisive.

“Don’t worry. I will be right beside you.” Harry shook his head- away from the spider wave of thoughts.

"No need to worry, professor. I have made potions before.”

The professor looked equally suspicious and interested.

“You have? Which ones?”

Harry’s mouth opened.

And closed as suddenly.

Potion purifying dark ritual ground.

Blood potions during necromancy practice.

Potion for raising inferi.

Which one could he safely add to his public repertoire of potion-making?

“Nutrient potions.” He choked out,

“Ah.” The professor nodded understandingly, “You started making your own... after?”

Harry gave an odd jerk that could have been a shake or a nod.

Nutrients for potions ingredients.

But sure, let’s just make him seem more pitiful.

Harry could neither accept this misunderstanding nor think how he could clear it up without leading himself to a trap.

The professor understood they were veering into a sensitive situation and took a step back tactfully.

“Well, let’s get started then? You have half an hour to complete your potion. What are you dawdling for?”

There was a sudden increase in seats scraping against the floor and cauldrons banging.

The girl whispered to him with all the impression that they didn’t want to talk but were far too curious.

"So you and professor Slughorn know each other?"

Well. Harry did know this person. Somewhat. A future version that made him understand this present one better.

“He gave a non-committal shrug.” Not really.”

The girl gave him a look of disbelief.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the class.

His professors were not as friendly as Slughorn in the other classes. Harry would have preferred being ignored on equal footing with his other classmates; he had no desire of being an ...outstanding student. (In any manner of sense)

He didn't believe he was wrong about the pursed lips and steely gazes.

He laid the entire blame on the fact that these people couldn’t torture him as well as they did the other students.

They couldn’t ask him to do practical assignments; they couldn’t make him do the same thing again and again.

Harry smirked and brought out his semi-finished parchment of the self-assigned task of creating a ritual.

He ignored his restless observer.

Benjamin Mason stole a quick glance at his classmate. He needn't worry about being caught - the newest addition to Slytherin, and the third year in Hogwarts, Hadrien Silvan didn't pay any attention to whoever chose to sit by him in the classes.

There would be none of McGonagall’s steely gaze or Doyer’s roars.

Generally, Silvan sat alone except for the classes with Hufflepuff, and the numbers were evened out.

But Troch had side-eyed him at the beginning of the class, so Mason had reluctantly chosen to sit by Silvan.

But Silvan never even spared him a glance, instead doodled on the parchment with elbows on the desk and cheeks resting on knuckles.

Benjamin hid the sneer that was threatening to break out.

There was nothing about the attire that would prompt a complaint- but the boy managed to look a buttoned-up robe look slovenly with his attitude.

Mason could understand why everyone was so concerned about him. A newcomer who was going to drag the Slytherin propriety through hippogriff dung.

But it wasn’t manners that had him on as fidgety as if he was perched on a dragon’s claw.

Troch looked at him again.

“Hey, Silvan.”

Blue eyes fluttered up at him and down against a hum left the other.

Silvan looked as delicate as holly bloom on the winter-pale and slight everywhere, thinner than him.

But a glance of those bright blue-and Mason didn’t understand why the back of his throat was parched.

“Aren’t you going to practice your Wingardium Laviosa?”

That wasn’t what he was supposed to ask. Inexplicably Mason was flustered. His eyes had then fallen on the dark wand that was discarded in favour of a parchment.

“I did.”

But –

“The professor isn’t going to like it if you are idling.”

The boy shrugged,” He knows,”

Mason bit his lips, but it was only a review class for the first year spells-

“You seem to be getting by well enough.”

Even though this was supposed to be your first time in here.

He hadn’t even tripped in the tricky stair.

“Mn.”

“Professor Dumbledore must have shown you around before, huh? After all, you are not a first-year. That would be nice of him to make sure you didn’t have trouble going to classes.

Really.” Mason gave a short laugh, “I remember my first year. The prefects ferried us back and forth the first couple of days. Rhodes- that was the prefect never bothered to warn the traps and tricks. Like the time when Rosier got trapped in the suit of armour because he couldn't spy the password first enough, or that time when the side-railing disappeared under my hands. I was hanging from the second floor by one hand. We all had a fabulous time – everyone laughing and enjoying- well, Rhodes more than anyone else. It was nice of him to take care of us -

But, I suppose you don’t need that, do you?”

Silvan hadn’t lifted his head throughout the tirade- not until the sentence.

Now, the eyes blue eyes looked at him straight, appeared to be looking into him. His quill tapped softly. The boy kept his tilted inquisitively.

Benjamin’s heart was starting to pound.

He should have understood the meaning, right?

What would he say now?

It wouldn’t be easy surviving in the Slytherin. Headmaster’s pet or not (Troch had been the one to call him that, Benjamin had protested at that time, but seeing this unconcerned visage of this boy, his heart spat out that phrase)

Unexpectedly the boy smiled.

“If you say so.” And returned to his doodling. Mason took a deep breath.

Well.

It was a good thing he was the one to approach. Troch couldn’t have held in his temper.

Eddy made an odd nod at him at the end of the class- Benjamin Mason obediently went to his side.

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t seem to care.”

Troch gave a short bark of a laugh," Hah! Is he going to walk through the house just like that? Nameless and faceless- still he is this wilful?”

“What do we do now?”

Troch opened his mouth- but snapped shut when the answer came behind his shoulder.

“Did you even find out who he is? Or spent the entire time puffing yourself?”

Both Troch and Mason stiffened.

Troch in jealousy- Mason in complete fear.

“I … I did try. But Silvan was not very forthcoming."

Dark eyes looked over them in silence," It didn't seem as if he could. You didn't give him time to breathe,"

Mason reddened. “I –

Eddy interrupted, “I am doing this. You didn't want to be bothered with it before. Why do you care now? We can take care of this ourselves."

The boy laughed softly, "It didn't seem worth my time. I had thought such a small task, hm, it should have been easily done by you. I might have over-shot my expectation of you."

Eddy gritted his teeth but didn’t give up, “What will Jugson say when he knows you didn’t follow his words? We just need..”

Dark eyes blinked uncaringly at the blatant threat, "Go on then. Tell him. Jugson might even be in the mood for entertainment."

And left as quietly as he had appeared.

“That condescending bastard of a –

“Eddy!” Benjamin looked around in fear of being overheard.

"Does he think just because he has his house standing behind him- he is all that now? Him and that stuttering fool! They are taking the piss out of us- I know it! We will show them- and Jugson-“ Eddy panted when his mouth started to run out of sheer frustration.

“So...so then –“

“It was a fluke. We will try again. He can’t even be bothered with the task, ha! Let’s see how Jugson feels about that!”

Mason waited for a beat before whispering softly.

“The others are already gone.”

Troch cursed before they hurried for the DADA class as well.

Harry had a couple of sticky notes dogging his steps. Odd pieces at that.

And they never seemed happy with him.

Sometimes at breakfast, they would be gone by the time he roused his head from breakfast.

And then would be devastated he managed to stride into the class in time.

Harry hadn’t even seen two of his dorm mates as of yet: it had already been a week,

Did he care?

No.

He will in time. Or he won't.

When he had been the boy-who-lived- it had been the mob falling all over themselves, sometimes hateful, sometimes adoring.

Harry had always been a solitary creature- not by choice at first.

(Then solitude had gradually become a part of him.)

Besides Ron and Hermione- who had dragged him by the ear into friendship- he had only had an amiable but distant sort of relationship with the rest.

It had been easier to connect with adults- than the children. Well- even the adults had a propensity of being swayed with whichever direction the gossip blew.

Now he was an adult himself.

…bar a few unfortunate times or two.

So how could he connect to children anymore with the façade of a child? Especially when their antics and motivations were easily discerned from their pitiful attempts?

If Harry were more amused, he might even call their desperate struggles cute.

All of it was just more of a nuisance.

Trying to drag him down out of envy.

Forcing him to fall into the quagmire of power.

The entire Slytherin was a maze of power-play.

The dogs play with the cats.

The cats toy with the rats.

The rat will try finding himself some bugs to prove his superiority.

Anyone that enters the maze would seek the skirt of someone more powerful- safer that way, comfortable that way,

The averagely talented would not take more than a week to fall into the mould- such is the power of peer pressure.

The games themselves were petty things- it was the egos being trampled and bloated that made the most noise.

It might change. The little boys of today might grow. Alliances were mandatory for them. After all, no matter their conniving games, it was at this time of relative innocent that they might find their niche of people sharing similar affinity.

A fancy way of saying the powerful would group together, the followers would find their seat where the hand-downs might be the most lucrative.

For a man who found it wee taxing to initiate friendships until they had a troll or poison for dinner-

Alliances were out of his shell of comfort,

It was all… he mused as he slid down a ladder in the section for ancient runes... A matter of ideology.

The Slytherin wouldn’t understand him,

He wouldn't care to be one of the steps on that ladder,

Harry would go through Hogwarts by his lone self.

Like Luna –well, she made friends in her fourth year with them, but she had been alone in her house.

Or like Neville –sans the timidity.

It was the same as when he saw Teddy and his friends play around his legs, they would create themselves an elaborate game, and any adult would need only two minutes to look down and understand- but of course, they would leave the children to their fun.

What it all boiled down to- unlike his peers, he spent most of his time outside of the dorm.

If it was not the library- he had found a nice little nook that looked over the central courtyard. Unlike the library, that place had space to breathe and stretch his legs.

Harry walked down the winding stairs- humming and jumping every other step.

He had this thing down pat.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of valentine week seen nicely with the start of my exam. First exam of the new year. :DD X((  
> Which is why my posting was delayed by a day. Anyway- I had fun writing this chapter. Something I love about the British- is their way of understating things. I am not English- in any form or manner. The only thing I can do is edit the spellings - XD.   
> The stage is set. The characters will be entering next. Ahh!! I am so excited to share it all with you!  
>  Toodles, until later!!


	15. A series of Coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the pan- into the water- exit to fire. Harry ran his mouth more than he had the entire month. Aaaaannnd We have new character introductions!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So excited with this chapter. Because the peace- time is over, people!

As expected of the young, brash apprentice of Death, Harry James Potter, presently masquerading as Hadrien 'unknown middle name' Silvan put little care to the mortals when they flexed their egos, compared their biceps.

His days were spent integrating better into the life of a youth who casually slouched in the classes and spent the time away in the library. Such an unconventional way of studying was a little baffling to everyone, except for the teachers who knew the truth.

He needed to send a message to his Lord. While the need had not lost its urgency- time after that.. day Harry had to think about it more rationally.

Samhain was the only day his Lord had allowed for him to enter the Other Realm. While he would much, much prefer an open dialogue where he could rant some more to his Lord, he could only send a message for now.

But how to do it?

Where to do it?

Well, the ‘ _where’_ was easily solved. The Forbidden Forest, of course. He just needed to ensure that his sneaky visits should not coincide where Centaurs guarded or the acromantula colony.

Easy as a tart.

More than the acromantulas, Harry was weary of the centaurs. He didn't need their snotty noses sniffing out his Death Magic, and complaining to the headmaster about what sort of foul foals the man had been allowing into the forest.

The acromantula colony would only complain about indigestion.

Hm.

He could take the path along the lake-

Or the one close to the Whomping Willow. The willow did a perfect job of deterring curious Georges.

How to do it?

Since he couldn't walk the Realm himself, it was a matter of choosing the messenger and carrier of message innit?

Don't forget the time of the message either.

Harry never thought that his Astronomy chart could be of use at any time in his life.

In conclusion, Harry was not quite rushing around. Any art of Necromancy takes careful evaluation, thank you very much.

The perfect new moon had already passed him by, and Harry intended to complete his preparation before the next.

He did not expect the series of tiny events that would evict all his schedule.

It started with a speck of spittle landing on his cheek and spark from a wand catching on his desk- neatly waking up Harry from his daydream. Harry gave a good thump with his fist before the spark could grow a mind of his own.

“Are you paying attention, Silvan? This spell might save you one day. That is if you can get someone to cast for you."

It was the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Harry sighed before looking up at the blazing face of this professor.

Harry didn’t know what it was about him that attracted troublesome Defense Against the Dark Arts professors- they all converged on him like dementors to a delicious-looking soul.

There was no point in attending this portion of the class, truth be told- his classmates were all practicing the wand movement of a Tergeo spell one by one: he could only sit in the back clutching onto his book.

There had been no reason to attend any of the practical classes; the other core teachers excused him, worried that the presence of others' magic would provoke his volatile magic.

But the Defense professor insisted on him staying in the classroom every time.

(Hence most of the time, he was sans a partner and happily working away on his plans.

Or plain drooling on his textbook. They had made quite an impression on him. Literally. Sometimes the texts were stamped across his cheeks with their majestic and somber writing.)

So it soon came to his attention this the professor just needed more time to grind his irritation off something.

The man was still smirking, “Maybe you should help your classmates with their practice, hm? Make some use of yourself.”

The weeks while the professor continued grinding his displeasure on him – quite like a rat that could not help but chew something to relieve its aching gums- Harry was tired of being that 'something'.

There has to be some reason why all his Defense against the Dark Arts Professor would be dangerous to him- one way or another.

Harry smiled back vacantly, "I don't know, professor. Headmaster didn't want me to bother any of the professors."

His classmates looked confused at that- but Harry knew the professor would have gotten the hint.

Tch.

Worse than a gnat on embers- this fellow.

The professor glared back at him incompetently- Harry didn't do what common sense dictated and glared right back impudently.

It was not advisable to strut right over the professor’s tolerance limit, but Harry wasn’t feeling particularly charitable today.

The man turned away after a snort, but Harry’s brows were still wrinkled.

If an adult like this man could act as juvenile as he wished, then why couldn't he? Why should he, as a student, be the one to carry the responsibility to be proper?

He was stuck doing lower graded rituals- rituals that didn’t require magic. He was stuck in this place- a necromancer in name alone, his dignity all in tatters. He couldn’t even traverse the other Realm- as if he had been exiled in shame.

So hard he had tried- to go past the tests and succeed. So far he had gone- in the beginning, his soul had not been able to bear the might of his Lord's full attention.

And that day, he had realized the triviality of his existence- so close to the meaning of utter obliteration. That sobering realization- of how utterly, _utterly_ insignificant he was in the hallways of Primordial beings had been humiliating.

His Lord had been patient and had led him through his trials- bothersome, wearisome. But in the end, his soul could carry his Lord's gaze without falling apart.

Until that day, his Lord had communicated through a proxy.

Because he had suffered so much on his way to simply build himself up. And now to find himself with the rest of _g **n** at **s** and nif **f** ler **s** \- _

Someone was poking at his back.

Had ** _n_** ’t th ** _es_** e pe ** _o_** ple-

!!!

_Sirius?!_

Harry jerked violently back with a surprised yelp, the other boy startled and reacted just as- there was a bang from the practicing couple in the front.

A cloud of smoke enveloped the classroom. There was a confused croak among all the sounds of cough and enraged yells.

A short time and some incensed words later, Harry found himself out of the class with his book bag on the shoulder, a sullen toad in his cupped palms, and a sullen person walking by his side.

The Sirius Black with green ties and green lining in the robes was stupefied. Harry was unwilling to look at him.

“I can’t believe I got thrown out of the class.” The boy mumbled to himself.

This Sirius Black was yet grouchy from the professor's wrath. Huh.

No parallel universe can be so skewed. Either this was an illusion or-

“You are not Sirius Black.”

The dark-haired boy looked balefully down at him before going for a close-lipped smile, "No. I am his brother. Regulus Black.”

“You look nothing like.” Harry declared.

He didn't know how he could have been so mistaken- taking this quiet, proper-looking boy to be the rambunctious godfather of his.

Regulus opened his mouth before changing his mind. If they didn’t look alike, there had been no reason to bring up the other. And with that reaction that got him _thrown out of the class for the first time!_

If his mother hears about this behavior…

“What was with the reaction in the class, then?” _That which got him banished from the class for the first time!_

His classmate shrugged indifferently, “You caught me off guard with the poking.”

“You didn’t react to the poking. You reacted to me!”

"Your face was too close- might have been your nose that was hurting my back. As I said, you caught me off guard with the poking."

Regulus gaped at the shameless liar beside him before the pureblood boy breathed deep to compose himself.

With a strained smile and a cleared throat, he said, “Well then, I apologize for startling you so badly.”

“That is alright.” Silvan accepted most magnanimously.

They rounded two turns and crossed five portraits before Regulus couldn’t stay silent anymore.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

Clear blue eyes blinked at him, “Ah? We are not that close yet, are we? We haven’t even met before this.”

“What does that even mean- no- we are living in the same dorm!"

“Really? How come I never saw you before?”

At that Regulus paused a beat- how could he say that the rest of the third years were wary of this boy who had suddenly joined them, had shown more interest in Gryffindors, seemed close with the headmaster and well-

Regulus personally hadn’t wanted to bother with this wisp of the boy.

The boy turned out to be less of a wisp and more of a raging pixie- turning everything topsy and turvy as he strutted by.

"You are in bed when we get to the dorm and out of the house before even breakfast time!"

Finally, the placidity broke a bit, and the boy pushed back his hair in embarrassment.

“Hm. I _have_ been negligent of my dorm-mates, haven't I? It's just-I have been busy lately.”

Regulus did not- _did not_ \- flush but bit back at that sentence, "With what?! It has been hardly two weeks! We are still reviewing in some classes."

“Well-

_I am trying to see which subject I should excel in-so that I may have an excuse for a restricted section pass. Because there are some priceless necromancy rituals and practices parchments in there- and that was my main reason to come back and relive those wonderful days of detention and Mr. Flich’s threats._

Harry was relieved when an older student with Hufflepuff colors came hurrying to them and stopped right in front of two young boys and a toad.

“Adrien Silvan? Headmaster asked for you. Here” He shoved a piece of parchment before hurrying back the same corridor.

Harry neatly took the excuse.

“Sorry for that, Regulus. Here, take him to the medical wing, would you? I just need to-“ Harry rushed away before the boy could continue to ask him about what he had been doing. Too long interactions had been draining- when recently, he had limited himself to grunts and nods.

He slowed down when he was two staircases away from Regulus and opened the parchment.

**I have been favouring chocolate frogs lately.**

Ugh.

\--=---

Regulus blankly looked at the empty corridor with a handful of slimy frog skin.

He had not gotten to ask why the professor was so opposed to him.

He had not gotten to ask what those comments meant.

That boy hadn’t even apologized to him.

The vexed Slytherin didn’t know he was squeezing his fist tight until the poor thing in his palm started shrieking mercy in its dulcet tone.

\---

Harry was thankful for Regulus Black's timely interruption. Granted- the boy probably hadn't meant to make such chaos-

But Regulus had knocked him out of a dangerous mindset. He did not want to flood the classroom with his Death Magic. Nothing could have been disastrous than being caught as a necromancer right under the mercy of Dumbledore.

The boy did well with distracting him with that face- for a short while though-Harry could already distinguish between the two brothers.

Dumbledore’s letter had been timely.

Although now that he was standing in front of the gargoyle, he wondered if the sly interrogation of Regulus Black would have been preferable.

And Harry breathed deep- calmed the rush of magic in his blood- let himself be with the tranquillity that his practice of Art brought.

He did not hum. He did not invoke.

Just let himself float in that state of utter calmness.

It wouldn’t dull his emotions- but hide all that was inappropriate from strangers’ eyes.

His greatest strength was his greatest weakness.

“Chocolate Frogs," Harry said with a twist to his mouth.

The gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office rumbled and jumped off after a minute.

“Thank you.” Harry was a polite person.

Harry pushed open the heavy door to find… the esteemed headmaster not alone. Both the parties looked at each other in confusion, which… why?!

Dumbledore recovered fast, “young Hadrien. I didn’t quite expect you so soon. Aren’t you supposed to be in class at the moment?"

“Yes.” Harry drawled out slowly.

It was a coincidence-an unfortunate one.

Dumbledore waited for him with a smile.

“There was… a small incident.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm.”

“It was your defense against dark arts class, wasn’t it?”

Harry shrugged, "I am sure the professor will tell you all about it later."

“That maybe-

"You know I can come back later if you are busy at the moment, professor." Harry interrupted the man- his eyes carefully not straying to the other curious people by the professor’s side.

 _(They were looking at him_.)

“Oh, no. We are done already. Mr. Potter and Mr. Black here do not need any more words, do they?”

Harry swallowed and clasped his trembling hands behind his back.

( _His father’s hair looked more unruly than he remembered- the ghostly imprints had never managed to do the justice to the real person.)_

He was not ready at all.

A cheerful voice boomed out, "Oh no, Sir, we are properly chastised for all our sins."

( _That was Sirius. So young and happy. He wanted…)_

“Mr. Black.”

“Don’t worry, sir. This mutt will drown himself in holy water.”

“Even that won’t get rid of your fleas, Sirius.”

( _James’ voice sounded so young too. The images in his periphery shifted. Harry didn’t want to look- didn’t want to..)_

“You are not the holy paladin here that you are making out to be, Jamesy.”

“Both of you! Stop it! We are at the headmasters'!"

( _That was Remus, wasn't it_? Harry was feeling dizzy)

“Oh? We are? And here I thought ..-

“Do not finish that sentence, James Orion Black!”

( _Ha- Remus was a lot less patient back then, huh.)_

Someone gasped.

( _He knew exactly- who.)_

“How cheeky of you, Remy! To show your prefect-ish authority right in front of the headmaster!”

“That was rather brave of you, Ramus.”

“As brave as a lion.”

“Or a Gryffindor.”

Harry bit his cheeks to his control his smile _._

 _( So silly_.)

“Why I think the Gryffindor house is perfect for you, Remus Lupin.”

“Maybe, we should take over the sorting hat job, eh?”

“So it is okay for you to show your authority right over the founding fathers?”

“Well- I know where I want to shove all the slimy thi-

Dumbledore sighed, “That is enough! I don’t want to see you sent here again, do you hear me?”

Sirius’ eyes shone in delight ( _not that Harry was at all lookin_ g), "So its okay to take it so far as McGonagall’s ?”

“Professor McGonagall, Sirius.”

Harry was sure they would start on a tangent again if it weren't for the headmaster clearing his throat.

“That will be all. I have the poor boy attending to me for a long time already."

The trio shuffled- Harry had managed to keep his expression controlled. Let’s not be labeled nuts by looking at strangers with a besotted look.

Sirius sneered at him, "In trouble already?"

Harry gave that the droll look it deserved, turned away, and walked up to the table.

The headmaster waited till the door had closed.

“They are an unruly bunch. But not bad at heart, Hadrien.”

“Except to the Slytherins, right?” Harry retorted.

Dumbledore hesitated, “I would say the conflict is with select members of the house.”

"I know," Harry muttered- his thoughts straying far into another time.

Dumbledore looked at him curiously- but Harry ignored the question in there; instead, he took an uninvited seat in the armchair that let his butt sink in perfectly.

"You called for me, professor." Because the man didn't seem inclined to start on that reason: he seemed more interested in inviting each random people.

“Madam Pomfrey tells me that you haven’t been by the mediwing. My boy, didn’t you say there were some potions that you couldn’t do without?”

Harry cringed inside and out.

“I am trying to ah.. build up my body’s tolerance without them. I can’t be dependent forever, right?"

The headmaster watched him with calm, blue eyes, "Perhaps this exercise in tolerance could have started taking the advice of experts first, hm? You don't want a relapse, do you? If that could make you invalid?"

Is that what the man deduced- that he had been useless all this time- useless without some help helping him?

Hm- it was a convenient enough situation for him- after all the polite inquiries were not he wanted.

He knew he didn’t want the potions any more- slightly more tolerable than doxy dung. The smell of this rotten thestral vomit would be enough to incapacitate him-

Harry personally felt this was more dangerous to him more than any creeping illness Adrien Silvan had

He was very, very reluctant.

The headmaster watched him for a moment before smiling slightly, “I understand you are more confident after your… present wellbeing. But I should still suggest a visit to the medi-witch. We take our responsibility as the guardian of our students very seriously, dear boy. Especially for someone like you.”

He despised the potions-

but that was not the only reason why he had put off going to the medi-wing or the potions master for his delicate state of magic.

“I understand, professor.”

It was vexing. Harry did not –

Could not-

But-

He couldn’t keep on refusing.

He didn’t have an excuse not to.

His right hand tapped on the left ring finger.

It was not as if the headmaster would personally guide him to the mediwing, was he?

_Dumbledore had done his job of polite inquiry- how was anyone going to know whether he obeyed or not?_

“I will go see her after my afternoon classes.”

“Very good.” The man was pleased with his easy acquiescence, “However, you never did tell your early dismissal from your defense class, Hadrien.”

Harry groaned and sank into the comfortable chair.

\----

The headmaster kept him not for long, chuckling after his tale of an absolute disaster of coincidences and dismissing him.

-Not before reminding him his impending medical check.

Harry had bobbed his head and left the office- and breathed a sigh of relief when he came out.

Of course, he was not going to the medical wing. Of course, he was not going to let anyone look through the state of magic and his body.

He was not going to risk them knowing about the vein of necromancy magic flowing through him.

Could they, though?- Harry didn't know. He had cleansed himself properly after the ritual, of course- had let the residue flow back to where it belonged.

The innate magic couldn't be discovered- it was only the remnants, the stain of foreign magic that is easily caught.

If the British Wizards had been so proficient in discovering the innate Gifts- they wouldn’t need a Gringotts Inheritance Test to know even the blood-line Talents.

Unless the innate Gift manifested as obviously as the metamorphous of the Parseltongue-

If it were as he was before- the cleansing would have wiped out all the noticeable signs, all the taints in his magic. The untainted from the ritual itself would have merged seamlessly with his magic anyway; there would be no worry that someone could identify a thread of magic out of many from someone’s core.

However, as it was now- his magic unstable and not his- could he hope that the lingering taint might have faded seamlessly, as it should have? No.

Could he risk someone finding out? No.

Harry sighed resignedly.

That long-drawn-out exhale hadn't ended even when his legs abruptly locked together.

-From the top of his thigh to the toe.

He had been walking- a foot raised to its tip to take the next step-the forceful incident meant he could not hope to keep his balance.

Harry fell- _painfully_ \- on his face.

He turned his head instinctively.

And instead of a broken nose and forehead, now he had throbbing cheek (Did he already have a bump there?), he could hear faint laughter from the end of the corridor.

His eyes were starting to itch.

But it wasn't over. The next moment, 'something' shot fast into a nostril-lodging itself somewhere inside.

The laughter was louder.

It was not funny to the boy lying in the corridor, though. It was painful- the burning extending from his nose to his throat. Instinct forced him to sneeze it out, to dug his wand tip inside and force that invader out, to put a claw in his throat and drag the choking thing out.

Harry suppressed the physical impulse- suppressed the snarl at the laughter that was fading away with footsteps of multiple people- and dragged himself up on his elbows.

He was far too busy trying to breathe through the pain.

The body of Hadrien Silvan was far more susceptible to pain than he was used to. Harry remembered once having breathed through cruciatus from the Dark Lord himself.

And now, a simple childish prank was enough to redden his eyes and stifle his whimpers.

Merlin- thrice-cursed- brats!!

Harry thumped a tight fist on the stone- before he tried heaving himself.

Well, there was nothing to be done anyway. The classes were in full swing probably- for the next hour, no one will be found in the corridor. No students, no professors who might stroll near the headmasters'.

 _Even if he was found, would any of his classmates help him?_ He hadn’t been blind to the distance the others were keeping from him.

The thoughts fleeted past as he crouched and carefully stood up.

Well- hopping his way would not be easy, but infinitely less humiliating than crawling. Not down to the mediwing, though, not when help was so near.

And Harry was never afraid of demanding his due where he must.

Harry didn’t get to realize the plan of kicking the gargoyle and call out Dumbledore.

He didn't get to see Dumbledore's expression at his reappearance- legs joined abnormally, leaning on a pillar and one cheekbone already swelling.

A pair of shoes came to stand in front of him. A moment later, his wand rolled back to his hand’s reach.

Harry craned his neck- it was not comfortable- and looked up at the expressionless Slytherin looking down at him.

Harry waited.

The boy didn’t break his gaze.

Harry waited some more.

The boy thought he was being friendly by trying to give back his wand, wasn’t he?

Harry was in pain. His cheek was swelling up, his elbows and knees were bruised. It was hurting to breathe.

But he couldn't help the huff of a chuckle.

Ugh- it hurt to laugh.

“Thanks for the-

The boy turned and walked away, leaving his sight in mere seconds.

-help. You needn’t bother anymore.”

 _He was wrong_. The House of Slytherin was a zoo.

He was able to see Dumbledore's pole-axed expression when his glaring visage stood there legs joined abnormally and face red. Harry took the precious moments to savour it.

The man should be thankful that he didn’t kick the gargoyle to get his attention.

___--___

Dumbledore didn’t ask him after the incidence. Harry was neither surprised nor disappointed. The man did not interfere in students’ affairs-unless they killed each other.

Note the phrase- there is no _almost_ about it. Even near-death experience at the hand of another student would, at most, receive attention from the head of respective houses.

It was for the better anyway. Harry didn’t want to think about the perpetrators- not when he knew them.

Because one of the jinxes was particularly familiar to him. He had seen it first in his third year in Hogwarts, a memory of the time when he had been Harry Potter when Remus or Professor Lupin as they had known him at that time had gotten rid of the local poltergeist, Peeves by performing the exact jinx.

Harry slowed down his steps subconsciously as he thought back to that time when they had all been wowed at the new professors' effortless way of managing the pest.

Their time together had ended before it could have matured any further: Remus Lupin had been killed in the war.

How would he have thought that one day he would be the pest at the others’ wand point?

Harry chuckled lowly.

And, he had been worried about the fragility of a timeline and possible repercussions of his interactions with familiar people- as if he could go near them without being cursed.

Harry had not even talked to them- and yet…

Should he even bother calling on his Lord for this?

His hand stroked the ring finger as he often used to in muddled moments. It was empty at the moment.

Harry shook his head hard.

He was a Slytherin. Had Harry forgotten the marauders’ hatred of his house?

It hadn't mattered to him. But apparently, that was all people needed to form an opinion of him.

Why was he getting all maudlin like this anyway?! It was imperative to know whether the timeline as delicate as unicorn hair or more resilient.

The answer was important- even if the marauders chose to ignore him.

( _He ignored the ache in his heart at that thought_.)

He walked to the history of magic class- trying hard to stay in the present and not get lost in the nostalgic memories.

But his finger was empty of the _anchor_ he once had.

And the loss of everything roared out at him again.

The weekend was coming up.

It was good- he needed to re-calibrate himself.

And besides, he needed to select his messengers of death, didn’t he?

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Well, well, well? How was it? Do tell if the characters are flying fast. This is not the end. And we will have some more characters! What was your first impression of them? Ahh! I am so excited for this!  
> Also- there are some teasers in some of my chapters- Imma wait and see if anyone finds out XD

**Author's Note:**

> My second on-going story, yay! Kudos and comments, people! These things be important!!  
> ;)


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